


Stack the Deck

by sof_gigante



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Big Brother Boba, Bisexual Cobb Vanth, Bisexual Din Djarin, Canon Typical Violence, Catharsis, Cobb Vanth Whump, Din is comforting, Established relationship (Boba & Fennec), Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Force-Sensitive Cobb Vanth, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Conditions, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, POV Multiple, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Plot, Post Season 2, Processing Trauma, Romance, Slavery, Slow Burn, Tatooine Slave Culture (Star Wars), The Mandalorian (TV) Spoilers, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Whump, everybody loves Cobb, mand'alor din djarin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28805088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sof_gigante/pseuds/sof_gigante
Summary: When Cobb Vanth's tracing chip is reactivated by his old slavers, it sets off a chain of events that will change Tatooine forever.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Fennec Shand, Din Djarin & Boba Fett, Din Djarin & Fennec Shand, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth, past Boba Fett & Cobb Vanth, past Fennec Shand/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 132
Kudos: 218





	1. {Cobb Vanth} The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Set a few months after the end of season 2. More characters and tags will be added as chapters progress. 
> 
> Sexual abuse/rape "fades to black" and is only in chapter 1.
> 
> Thank you to everyone on the DinCobb Discord who cheer read this fic and encouraged me to put it out in the world! <3 <3 <3\. Thanks also to thestarvingwriter, gwenvanhelsing, and castillon02 for their help with betaing and brainstorming this beast-in-progress.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That Mandalorian armor sure would be helpful now, wouldn’t it?_

“Wakey, wakey Worrt.”

Cobb was sure he was dreaming, even though the ache radiating through his body felt real enough. No one had called him Worrt in decades.

The mocking words were followed by a sharp blow to Cobb’s ribs, and he curled up on himself with a wheeze. Yup. Not dreaming. His head throbbed and his mouth tasted sour. When he tried to open his eyes, all he saw were blurs of spinning shadows, and it left him so disoriented that he had to close his eyes against the nausea. What the hell had happened? 

“Aw, look, he’s confused!” The same rough voice jeered. “What’s the matter, Worrt? Having trouble remembering who we are?”

“He can’t see, idiot. The knock-out powder’s still wearing off.”

He didn’t know what chilled him more: the silky indifference of this second voice, or the knowledge that he’d been _drugged_. 

“Give it a minute though,” the smooth talker continued, “He’s always been a smart one. He’ll figure it out.”

Those voices. So familiar. Cobb swallowed hard against the panic rising in his throat. OK. What were the facts? He’d been in Mos Eisley on a supply run. He’d stopped into a cantina for a drink and a bite. The second drink he’d ordered had tasted strange. Salty. Next thing he knew, he was here.

Where was here, though? He tried to open his eyes again, and was greeted by the spinning nausea. No help there. OK. Other senses. He’d heard two men. There was a chance there were more, but he couldn’t hear breathing, shuffling, nothing like that. He tried to put his hands down to push himself up to sitting, and realized that they were bound by stuncuffs at the wrist. His pulse sped up, a cold lance of fear stabbing up his spine. Under his fingers, he could feel hard, stone ground, the grit of sand skating across it. The echoes told him that they were inside though—a cave, perhaps. There was smell, though, a particular, pungent, metallic odor...

Dilarium oil.

His stomach clenched, his mind reeled. He’d spent his youth trapped in a dilarium drilling facility, doing dirty, dangerous work.

Everything clicked together in his brain, and he knew who had him and where he was. He began to shake.

_No. No, this can’t be happening._

“Aw, look, he remembers!” The rough voice laughed, and this time, it made Cobb’s stomach clench in terror. The slaves had called him Whipper. The reason was written in the pale scars on Cobb’s back.

“I thought you were dead.” Cobb tried to keep his voice even, but even he could hear the tremor. “Killed off when the Hutts took charge of the operation.”

“You hoped we were,” the other voice—the silky, venomous voice—sighed, almost bored. Fuck, could it really be Oiler himself? “As I’m sure all of you slaves did. We were allowed to leave with our lives, though not much else. Jabba was feeling generous that day.”

“Did you miss us, Worrt?” Whipper chuckled. “We’ve sure missed you.”

Cobb was sure he was going to be sick. This had to be a nightmare, a fever dream of some sort. After every battle he’d won, every scrap of respect and authority he’d earned for himself…he was back here in the abandoned mining facility with the men who’d made his adolescence a living hell. 

“It’s Marshal Vance, now.” Cobb pulled himself up as best he could, sitting back on his heels and aiming his gaze towards the voices. He dared to open his eyes again. The blurs had stopped spinning, though all he saw were two shadows against the brightness of an artificial light. Well, that was something. It gave him the confidence to stick out his chin, putting on an air of bravado that he absolutely did not feel. 

A sharp shove from the back of his head threw him forward again. “Please, Worrt. We all know you’re still nothing more than a piece of worthless desert trash. You’ve had a slave transmitter lodged in your skull since you were three. You’re lucky you had my special attention to help you rise above being just a meat-sack!” 

Cobb felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut again. He’d spent years— _years_!—trying to forget those words, the meaning that they’d impressed upon his soul. The nape of his neck practically tingled where his transmitter was still implanted. Once he’d freed himself, he’d wanted to get it removed, but no doctor on Tatooine would ever perform the procedure. They were all too afraid of accidentally freeing an escaped slave and having to face the wrath of the Hutts or the Empire.

Oiler continued. “Don’t you remember who taught you to read and do sums? Calibrate equipment? I helped you rise to foreman. Gave you a better life than you were worth.” His long finger brushed against Cobb's cheek, and he tried to jerk away.

“Don’t,” Cobb growled.

Another sharp blow caught his across the back, and he gasped in pain. Oiler’s fingers dug into Cobb’s scalp, yanking his head hard to the side. 

“And this is how you repay my kindness,” Oiler growled. “Forgetting your place? Pretending you could be someone respectable? The Mining Guild and the Hutts may have owned your contracts, but you will always be _mine_ , do you understand?”

“ _E chu ta!_ ” Cobb spat, the Huttese curse rolling easily off his tongue. 

“Fine. We’ll do this your way.” Oiler released Cobb’s head, and he heard him take a step back. “He’s all yours, my friend.”

Cobb barely had a moment to process what was about to happen before a thin line of fire blistered across his back. He sucked in his breath, fresh pain pulling up old terrors from his youth. A second blow crackled across his back, and a third, forcing a cry from his lips.

_That Mandalorian armor sure would be helpful now, wouldn’t it?_

Cobb momentarily lost himself in the memory of the metal plates across his back, over his chest, cradling his head. He’d never felt so protected, so sure of himself.

_Pretend you’re wearing it now. Hold onto that, Cobb. Don’t let them see you crack._

Another whip-lash crackled across his shoulder, and he tried, oh he tried to bite back against his pain. A whisper swam up through the dark sea of his thoughts:

_What would Mando do, huh? That crazy son-of-a-gundark flew straight into a krayt dragon’s mouth. He ain’t afraid of nothing, even without the armor, I bet. Be strong like him._

“Let’s try this again,” Oiler said, his tone smooth. “Who do you belong to?”

“The people of Mos Pelgo,” Cobb gritted out.

Cobb braced himself. The next volley hurt worse than the first. 

Oiler sighed. “Well, this is going to take entirely too long. I was hoping we’d have you docile before the next step, make a bit of a ceremony of it, but I’m getting bored.”

Cobb’s eyes widened, panic flooding him. The next step? What were they going to—

Oiler pressed something small and metallic to the base of Cobb’s skull. He didn’t have time to move before he heard a soft beep.

Hot, electric agony radiated down his spine and through his skull. It ripped a scream from his throat, a jagged, terrified sound he thought he’d never make again. As soon as it started, it ended, leaving only a dull tingling at the nape of his neck. Oiler released him, and Cobb collapsed to the ground. He didn’t need to ask to know what they’d done.

“There, much better. It’s amazing how well these old transmitters hold up. Now, you won’t be forgetting who you belong to anytime soon, will you, Worrt?”

_No, no, no. Not this. Anything but this._

“Speak up, _schutta_. Your _lorda_ can’t hear you.” Whipper couldn’t keep the glee from his voice. 

_Schutta._ Slave. Not again. Maker...not again.

Cobb gritted his teeth, biting back the furious tears, the howl of grief building up from the base of his soul. He clung desperately to the identity he’d built, the life that was slipping away. “I’m Marshal Cobb Vanth, mayor of Mos Pelgo. And you’re nothing but an oil-sucking piece of—”

A second electric shock sizzled through his muscles, stabbed at his brain and spine. His thoughts evaporated in a cloud of ozone, his will eroding.

“Please. If you were so special, would you have let yourself get caught by us again so easily? It’s within our rights to claim you again. You’re Diamond Star property, always have been, always will be. Even if you have been passed around like currency between the Hutts, the Empire, and that upstart Mining Collective.”

_“Maybe they’re right,”_ a small, bitterly familiar voice chimed in from the back of his mind. 

No.

“I have to say, I am not entirely disappointed that you’ve chosen this more challenging route of breaking you again. I think the more violence we show you, the more the King will be pleased. He seems the type.”

“The King?” Cobb had heard rumors of the new crime lord of Tatooine, of course, but not many details had found their way yet to Mos Pelgo. He’d hoped to learn more in Mos Eisley.

Oiler leaned down and whispered in Cobb’s ear. “The Mandalorian bounty hunter whose armor you stole.”

The ground fell out from under Cobb. He couldn’t breathe. This had to be some sort of mistake! He’d found the armor in a sandcrawler and traded it fairly from the Jawas. He hadn’t stolen anything! He’d even returned it to Mando to give back to his people, for Maker’s sake!

_Mando. I need to get a message to Mando, he can clear this up._

Oiler continued. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to. You will make a fine offering to him, to open up negotiations for Diamond Star to take their assets back once more.”

Cobb’s mind raced, gears moving quickly. If he was being brought before a crime lord—and a Mandalorian, of all people—he would need his wits about him if he had any prayer of escaping before being delivered. And if he didn’t escape…well, he would definitely need his strength to survive.

_Survive._

Cobb took a deep breath, closing his eyes against the shame welling within him. 

“Fine. I belong to you.” This wasn’t truth. It was survival.

Whipper gave an almost childlike giggle, and Oiler gave a pleased grunt.

“See, the natural order is easy to return to.” 

Oiler petted Cobb’s hair, and it took all of Cobb’s strength to keep himself perfectly still.

“However, I’m not sure that you believe it yourself,” Oiler said with a sigh. “You’ve always been a clever one, Worrt, far too clever for your own good. I need to present the King with a gift, not a chore.”

Oiler’s fingers clamped around Cobb’s chin, digging into his jaw painfully. A wave of sickening memories surged up from the back of Cobb’s mind, terrible things he’d spent a lifetime trying to forget.

“Breaking you in will be my own personal pleasure.”

Cobb couldn’t stand it anymore. He whipped his head to the side, trying to escape Oiler’s grip. He succeeded in breaking it, and lashed out with his cuffed hands. He caught Oiler right in his smug mouth, and he managed to scramble to his feet—

Searing agony erupted at the base of his skull and raced through his body. It stole his muscle control and his sanity, and he yowled like an animal, as he slammed back down. It went on long…too long. He could feel things burning, severing, a pain so bright it was making him numb. He wanted to beg them to stop, he couldn’t take it, but he couldn’t force his mouth to make the words.

Once it ended, he laid on the ground, moaning. Something was _wrong_. The back of his neck throbbed, a vicious red ache that he’d never felt before. Tremors still rippled down his spine, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. He could feel the chip, sharp and invasive. That had never happened before, either. He opened his eyes, and his vision racked, struggling to focus. He tried to move, and his limbs just wouldn’t cooperate. Cobb was helpless.

He was a slave once more.

“Idiot boy!” Oiler hissed, but his voice sounded distant, echoing. Cobb was dimly aware of the sound of spitting, and the sickening, warm dribble sliding down his cheek. He tried to lift his hand to wipe it off, but his arms just twitched. There was nothing he could do. He heard Oiler order Whipper to haul him up onto his knees and hold him there, and he knew what was coming next.

It had come for him so many times over so many years that he knew what to do to survive it. Already he was drifting away from his broken body, reaching out of the cave, up towards the evening sky. 

_He was soaring through the air over the desert dunes, laughing as he looked down at the landscape. He’d thought that a speeder was freedom, but it had nothing on a jetpack. He felt weightless, powerful, like a bird of prey. He laughed, and looked over at his teacher. For one moment, the twin suns reflected off of Mando’s shining armor, making him look like some mighty warrior god out of a fable…_

_And in that moment, Cobb was one, too._


	2. {Boba Fett} The Emperor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“He is yours, mighty Boba Fett...to deal with as you please."_

Boba Fett sat tall upon his sandstone throne, surveying the petitioners waiting to speak with him. Hazy beams of morning sun cut through the dim throne room, and he knew that the effect made him appear even larger, more intimidating. No one dared look too closely at him, which was good. They wouldn't notice how hard he was struggling to stay awake under his helmet. 

The last 45 minutes had been tedious. He’d mediated a debate between the best smugglers on his payroll, then loaned a considerable sum to an old bounty hunting acquaintance. He’d declined an offer to meet from a minor crime lord from Wick, a small planet nearby—they had nothing he wanted. To ally with them would make them seem needy.

The irony of it was that Boba was in a bit of a needy position. He was still sitting in Jabba’s shadow, and didn’t have the clout of the Hutt Clans behind him. Bib Fortuna had been little more than a throne-warmer, but he’d still been part of their network. Boba was a usurper, and his reputation as a deadly hunter would only keep him alive for so long. He had to amass power to go with the wealth they’d seized from Fortuna, and quickly. It was only a matter of time before the Hutts came to reclaim their territory.

“Who’s next?” Boba drawled. He didn’t move his head to look at Fennec, standing at his right shoulder. 

“Baslisk Vexxon, delegate from Diamond Star Dilarium Corporation.”

Dilarium drillers? Interesting. He knew they’d been here before, but had been run off by the Hutts when they started to short them on their cut of the profits. He’d read about it in the asset records that Fennec had pulled up for him. A deal with them could prove profitable.

He curled his hand forward, beckoning the delegate out of the crowd. A tall man emerged, practically gliding forward on sure feet. He was older than Boba by about 20 years, if he ventured a guess, his angular features highlighted by spindly wrinkles. His hair was dyed a bright, artificial blue, and it was wound on the top of his head in a flat spiral. His vermillion robes were clean—except for the sand-dusted hem, of course—and embroidered with silver designs. He was dressed to impress. Which meant he wanted something.

“Great and mighty Boba Fett!” Vexxon spread his arms wide and flashed a bright smile. “We greet your arrival on our humble planet the way the birds of—”

“I am in no mood for poetry,” Boba cut him off gruffly, “and I do not appreciate lies. I know that Diamond Star was banished from Tatoonie twenty years ago. You’re only just returning. Or rather, hoping to.”

Vexxon’s expression fell, but he caught it quickly, plastering on a forced smile. “Er, what I meant was Tatooine is where Diamond Star was founded, so it will always feel like home to us. Your timely acquisition of power means that our small operation may have a chance to resume the ventures that had been so profitable for both the Hutts and ourselves.”

“What makes you think that I won’t just take over the operation myself?”

“If you’ll forgive my frankness, the Hutts made a huge mistake by forcing our exit. Their staff did not know how to properly manage our specialized equipment, and the operation fell into ruin within three years of their seizure.”

That, Boba knew was true. When the cost of the mining operation was more than Jabba was willing to spend, he let it run into the dust.

“With my expert touch, I could make those old drills positively sing! We—and by that, I mean, you—would have a hand in manufacturing one of the most sought-after substances in the galaxy!”

It was an extremely tempting offer. Vexxon was correct: if Boba was making close to what the Hutts had been, he’d have a considerable influx of capital. He could use that to hire more soldiers, spies and smugglers. Fennec could invest it in other “legitimate” operations to increase their portfolio. He could bolster the offensive power of this fortress masquerading as a palace. This could turn the tide.

“It is something I will consider,” Boba said, keeping his voice even. “Give your contact information to my majordomo, and I will be in touch.”

He expected the matter to be closed, but Vexxon swiped his hand to the side.

“I have a gift for you, your excellence, something that I hope will show the depth of the personal commitment Diamond Star has to making this partnership work.”

A short, brawny man with disheveled hair and a too-small jacket pushed his way out of the crowd. He was holding a leash, and with a tug, a second man staggered forward. He was so hunched over that Boba hadn’t even noticed him in the crowd. He was obviously a prisoner, his hands were shackled before him in stuncuffs. His simple tunic and leggings were clean, cut from the roughhewn fabric of slave’s garb. However, he had no belt, and he had a cloth sack draped over his head. 

Boba was suddenly very awake. He tapped his forefinger of his left hand against the throne’s armrest twice, then swiped the middle finger, sending a wordless message to Fennec. _Keep alert._

Fennec’s finger swiped once in the space between Boba’s pauldron and his back plate. _Understood._

“We know Tatooine better than you give us credit for, great Boba Fett. We know the stories that the desert whispers in the wind! We know the man who dared to take you armor and claim it as his own!”

The man ripped off the rough sack covering the man’s head, and Boba’s blood ran cold.

It was Cobb Vanth. 

“He is yours, mighty Boba Fett,” Vexxon boasted, “to deal with as you please. He is chipped, broken in and ready for your swift justice. Our gift to you.”

Boba’s thoughts raced faster than a speeder bike, fury roiling in his belly. Boba felt Fennec’s fingers tap frantically at the spot between his armor, suggesting a course of action that Boba had already decided on. 

“What makes you think that I have any interest in _slaves_?” Boba’s voice was deadly soft.

Vexxon took a step back, his gleeful expression faltering. “But…but…great Boba Fett, this is the man who dared wear your armor! Who used it to gain power and authority within your territory! Surely he is worth—”

“You know nothing of worth you _maya wermo_ , and you have befouled my court with your sordid offering. There will be no deal, with you, nor any company that brooks in the traffic of slaves.”

“I…I…” Vexxon bowed his head low. “I understand, great King. I shall relay my message back to my—”

“You will relay nothing.” Boba made a sharp motion with his hand, and instantly his guards were upon the two men. “You will remain in my custody until I have conceived of a fitting _gratiir_ for slaver _hut'uun kung_ such as you two!”

He was so angry he was mixing his languages, Huttese and Mando’a blurring into his Basic. He was so angry he could barely think. He wanted to gut Vexxon and his flunky. It had nothing to do with his honor. It had everything to do with Vanth.

As the guards closed in on the two, Fennec placed a hard hand on his shoulder, and bent down to speak over the commotion. 

“Don’t kill them until we know what kind of chip they used on him.”

Boba nodded. Some of the slave tracers were designed so they were synced to their master’s heartbeat. If their owner died, then so did they. It was a particularly cruel method of preventing slaves from rising up, and forcing them to go to lengths to keep their oppressors alive. 

“Take the Marshal to the medical bay,” Boba told her. “Look to his injuries. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She nodded, and hopped down off the dais. As the screaming dignitaries were dragged away, Vanth didn’t even move. He stood with his head bowed and his hands cuffed, completely unresponsive to the commotion. Gone was his easygoing smile, that cock-sure demeanor. It was like he’d been gutted.

Boba watched as Fennec approached him, speaking soothingly. She went to undo the cuffs, then thought better of it. They had no idea what state Vanth was in, if removing the cuffs would send him into fight or flight. Best to keep him as controlled as possible until they could get him alone and assess the damage. 

_Damage._ Boba felt sick.

Boba stood, and addressed the group of dignitaries. “All further matters will be discussed at a later time. Dismissed.”

If anyone had protests, they didn’t voice them as they shuffled out. Before they’d even made it up the stairs, he was already in action, moving between his operatives.

“Rudi,” he beaconed to his Utai messenger, “get word to Mos Pelgo. Tell them that their Marsal has been found and is in our care. Offer them two gunmen to keep order and give protection while the Marshal receives medical attention.” He thought for a second. “Give them my word on my Mandalorian armor that no harm will come to them, and they can come and go as they please. There is no debt they owe.”

He did not consider himself a Mandalorian, per say, not by any definition he knew. However, he knew how those people respected that armor, how it had come to symbolize protection and safety. 

She nodded her furry head, and scampered off towards the garage, where her speeder bike was held. She may be small, but she was fast…and fierce if you crossed her.

“Klak, Rura,” he called over a pair of Jawas. “Go to Beggar’s Canyon and speak to the Okrh'otrurs'aror tribe. Take five gallons of water to them and _ask_ them to get word to the Kug'urr that Mos Pelgo will need extra eyes on it for a few days.”

The Jawas nodded. They had good rapport with the local Tuskens, which was why Boba Fett kept them happy and on the payroll. That, and they were damn good artificers. 

“Kussk, Senya.” A green Trandoshan and a blue-skinned Twi’lek stepped forward. “Go to the known Diamond Star facilities nearby. See if there’s any more of those worms about, or if they have other prisoners.”

He looked around the room. “If I am needed, contact Shand. I will be indisposed.” He strode out of the throne room, headed towards the dungeons. Time make those _sleemo_ pay.


	3. {Fennec Shand} The Empress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hey. We’ll get him through this. We have the power now, remember?”_

“Shhh, it’s OK. You’re safe now.” Fennec reassured Cobb as she dabbed at the abrasions on his forehead and cheeks, carefully removing bits of ground-in gravel. Her stomach twisted in sickened fury. 

Cobb didn’t respond. He was awake, his eyes slitted open, his breathing shallow. He wouldn’t speak, though, or even acknowledge that he’d heard her. It was like he wasn’t even there. She’d never seen his expression so blank. Usually when they’d met, he had a sparkle in his eye and a smirk on his lip, a playful swagger that was as annoying as it was charming. 

_ “The Junland Wastes are a bad place to be having engine trouble, ma’am. Can I give you a tow back to my town? See if we can get her fixed up for you? ” _

_ “I don’t need your help.” _

_ “I’m sure you don’t, but I’m still happy to offer it.” _

Furious tears pricked at her eyes. Why him? Of all the people on this fucking dust-ball of a planet, Cobb Vanth was one of the few truly decent beings living on it. All he ever wanted was to protect the weak from the viscous. He’d even taken a chance on her when she’d been down on her luck, though he knew she was trouble by the mask on her face and the rifle on her back. He’d become her friend, then her lover, a pleasant distraction from the chaos of her profession. He was part of the reason she’d picked Tatooine to hide on when she’d been on the run from the New Republic—she trusted him not to turn her in as long as she kept her nose clean.

Now…when  _ he’d _ needed her…

“I’m sorry, my friend.” Fennec whispered, and ran a hand down his cheek.

She worked quickly and carefully, examining every inch of him to assess his condition. He’d been hastily cleaned and dressed in fresh clothes by his captors, but they couldn’t erase the evidence of their abuse on his flesh. By the time Boba had arrived, she was ready with a grim report. 

“How is he?” Boba asked. He slid his helmet off and placed it on the counter before coming over to the bed. “What did they do?”

“Everything you’d expect they’d do to a slave.” She swallowed hard. She’d seen and survived her own horrors, but nothing so malicious, so deliberate, as what they’d done to him. “From the look of it, they’d had him for days before they finally brought him to us.”

_ Days. They had him for days. _

“Hey.” Boba’s heavy hand landed gently on her shoulder. “We’ll get him through this. We have the power now, remember?”

_ Cobb made me feel more alive than any other person had in years. He made me laugh. Feel pleasure. Forget death for a bit with his humor and his smile and his touch.  _

Fennec nodded, unable to speak through the lump in her throat. Boba held up a small, white cylinder that didn’t look much different than a hand-held comm. 

“You were right. They had him chipped.” Boba sighed. “Actually, what I got out of the talker was that they’d simply re-activated the chip in his skull. It’d never been removed.”

“That explains why it did so much damage,” Fennec murmured. She gently turned his head and shoulder so that she could show Boba the furious red welt on at the nape of his neck. Broken capillaries spiderwebbed out from the point. It looked…wrong. Infected. “The older Imperial models have been known to decay over time. They didn’t expect their slaves to live long enough to wear them out. Our Cobb, though, he’s a fighter. He’s outlived the chip three times over.”

“Which means they reactivated a broken chip. He’s lucky it didn’t kill him.”

“I definitely think that it’s tied to his current state. He’s conscious, but…not responsive. It’s like he’s…”

“Gone into a fugue state,” Boba finished flatly. His jaw clenched tighter. “I’ve seen this a few times.”

“He needs more medical attention than I can give him here,” Fennec admitted. “Maybe even more than we can find on Tatooine, even with all our power. He needs a real surgeon to remove this chip before it does any more damage to him.”

“What are you suggesting?” Boba brushed a hand over Cobb’s tangled mop of silver hair. Fennec didn’t miss how he swallowed hard.

“The New Republic. He’s clean, a legitimate lawman. They should help him get him to a Core World facility to treat him.” 

“That’s…going to be a tough connection to make.”

Fennec smirked. The smile felt strange on her face through her conflicting emotions. “No, it won’t at all.”

Boba stared at her for a second, then his eyes lit up. “Cara Dune.”

“Exactly. She’s legit now that she’s a Marshal, and a bleeding heart. She’ll make the connections we need.”

“So, once the connections are made, then how are we going to get him there? It’s not like either of us can just walk into a New Republic facility, and this is too delicate a task to send him with a messenger. He needs a friend…”

“Mando.”

“No.” Boba shook his head. “No, no, no. That’s like the blind leading the blind right now.”

“You have a better suggestion? Cobb needs help, and quick. Mando’s not wanted by the Republic, Cara’s seen to that. Plus, Dune will do about anything for him if he asks.”

Fennec doesn’t miss the crease in Boba’s scarred brow, the tightening of his lips. He’s calculating, weighing the pros and cons. Fennec decides to add another weight to the scale.

“Plus, way you told it, Cobb and Mando formed a bond fighting that dragon. You know he’d want to help a friend, even with…everything he’s going through. It might even help him get his head on straight again.”

Boba snorted. “It’ll take a fucking miracle to get Din back to rights.” 

“Well, this isn’t a miracle, but it’s a mission. Something to focus on—” she stroked Cobb’s cheek gently, “—someone to help.”

Boba rubbed a hand across his face, then gave a heavy sigh. “There’s no guarantee he’ll help.”

“If  _ you _ ask, he will.” Fennec gave Boba a pointed look.

_ Don’t think that those helmets of yours hid the way you two gravitated towards each other like two lost stars. _

“Do you know where he is?” Fennec asked.

“Same place we left him.”

“How fast can you get there?”

Boba Fett turned on his heel, and grabbed his helmet. 

“I’ll be back before the second sun sets.”


	4. {Din Djarin} The Hermit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"There are better ways, Djarin, than to throw your fate on the mercy of the desert."_

The heat was punishing out on the edges of the Junland Wastes. If it weren’t for the beskar plates of his armor reflecting some of the heat, Din knew it would be unbearable. Even sitting in the shade of a large outcropping of rocks and with the cooling units in his helmet, sweat prickled his brow and trickled down his cheeks as he huddled over the device he’d crafted. 

Din stepped back, studying his work. He’d seen devices like this—thumpers—on other planets that needed to lure subterranean creatures up to the surface. The thumper he’d devised out of abandoned moisture farming equipment was crude, but it would do the trick. 

As he stepped out of the shade, the heat hit him like an engine blast. His body screamed at him to hurry his step, but he forced his feet to keep their slow, deliberate pace. One mis-step, and he’d undo the plan he’d been working on for days. Once he’d reached his planned spot, he drove the spiked base of the thumper deep into the soft sand. He shoved it down a few times, until he was content that it was secure. 

“Here goes,” he muttered to himself, and threw the switch.

At first, nothing happened. Then the pistons inside the thumper began to pump. Slowly, at first, then picking up speed and force. From where he was standing, it felt like a running dewback.

To the krayt dragon, it was the dinner bell.

He felt the rumbling beneath his feet, before he heard the growing roar. The creature was coming, just as he’d planned.

Din began to run back toward the rock cropping. He didn’t want to use his jetpack yet, not until he was sure the creature was going to breach. The roaring increased, the vibration growing until he could feel it in his back teeth. Any second now.

He knew he should be afraid. He’d faced a greater version of the creature he hunted today, had even been devoured once before. He knew the putrid blackness that awaited him, the acrid, constricting death if he failed. He had no explosives, no team of fighters and miners to help. He was alone. 

_This is the Way._

_The Way…_

The sand erupted before him, the krayt dragon breaching from the dunes. It’s terrible scream reverberated through Din’s bones, scraping painfully across his nerves. It was a monstrous creature, this devourer who could swallow banthas whole…and it was headed straight at him.

“Come on!” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, wild and rough. He wasn’t himself anymore. He didn’t know who he was. _What_ he was. 

He was no longer a bounty hunter; he’d lost his ship, his weapons, his gear. He had nothing left.

He was no longer a father, no longer a clan of two. Grogu was where he belonged at last…which was not with him.

He was no longer a Mandalorian. Had he ever been? Had he been raised in a cult by religious zealots? Or had he forsaken the way of Mandalore when he’d removed his helmet to save his s— the Kid?

Even more confusing…was he now Mand’alor by right of combat? Was it his responsibility now to retake a home world that had never been his, to lead a people that he didn’t even know how to find? 

Once, he had been Din Djarin. Mandalorian. Bounty Hunter. Leader of Clan Mudhorn. Father. 

Now…he was nothing.

He held his ground as the dragon charged the thumper. The beast was close enough that the air surrounding Din became moist and putrid, making the hair on the backs of his arm stand on end. 

It was time to fly. 

Din leapt, hitting the ignition on his jetpack. As he soared into the air, he rotated so that he was facing the creature. The dragon’s mouth was wide open, ready to devour the meal it thought was waiting for it. Din would have one shot at this, and one shot only.

Din unclipped the silver cylinder hanging from his belt, and pulled back his arm. He aimed his throw down, and released. Already the darksaber was sailing down into the dark, fanged cavern. Soon it and his burden would be swallowed by the desert itself.

_That should be a fitting enough battle for the future ruler of Mandalore._

The high staccato of blaster bolts whined through the air, and three bright explosions burst along the dragon’s jaw. The beast’s head whipped aside to track the attack--and the darksaber hilt bounced harmlessly off of its cheek to land on the sand below.

“No!” Din cried out in frustration.

There was another explosion, bigger this time, enough to send pieces of the creature flying into the air. Wounded, the dragon snarled, and dove back down into the safety of the sand. It was gone.

“Dank farrik!” Din couldn’t believe it. He’d been planning this for days—observing the dragon’s eating patterns, building the thumper, mapping out this spot. All that, for kriffing nothing.

The dragon’s roar faded enough so that Din could hear a high-pitched, mechanical drone behind him--a jetpack. A familiar jetpack. His heart sank, and he swore quietly under his breath as he turned to face…

“Boba Fett.” 

Boba didn’t bother replying. He motioned for Din to land. Din pointed to the shaded area he’d started his mission in, and Boba nodded in understanding. On the short flight there, Din braced himself. Of all the days, all the times Fett had decided to drop in to check on him. As soon as they landed, Fett laid into him.

“I knew it,” Fett growled. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone. What the hell do you think you’re doing, taking on a kriffing krayt dragon on your own?”

“I was bored,” Din lied.

“ _Karking loca_ bastard! I didn’t think you had a full-on _jaro,_ though!”

Din had gotten used to the mix of Huttese and Mando’a Fett peppered his Basic with, but the word _jaro_ reverberated through his very bones. _Death wish._ Did he have a _jaro_ now?

“What were you thinking? If I hadn’t lured the Krayt Dragon away, you’d have been eaten alive! Believe me, that is no way for a man to die.”

“I wasn’t trying to die.” 

“Really? That why you’re out here baiting a female next to her egg clutch?” Fett’s voice rose incredulously. 

“I wasn’t trying to die!” Din repeated, his voice matching Fett’s in volume. 

“Then what are you—”

Din walked away without replying, back out onto the loose sand. It took him a few minutes to locate the darksaber using his helmet’s sensors, but there it was, partially buried in the dunes. He picked it up with a sigh, and he swore it felt even heavier than before. As he walked back to Fett, he clipped it on his belt. When Din returned, Fett regarded him silently for a long moment.

“There are better ways, Djarin,” Fett said quietly, “than to throw your fate on the mercy of the desert.”

“If there are, then I cannot see them.” Din knelt, and dug around in a crack in the rocks where he’d stashed a canteen. He lifted his helmet just high enough to wrap his lips around the neck and took a long slug of warm water. He handed it out to Fett, who grunted in thanks as he took it. 

As Fett lifted up his helmet to take a swig, Din found himself studying the pale scars lining Fett’s otherwise tan face. If anyone knew anything about being eaten alive, it was Fett. No wonder he was so concerned. 

“Why are you here?” Din asked. “I thought you had business to attend to in your new role.”

“I do, but I can’t well take care of it if I need to _babysit_ your ass!”

Din’s heart twisted painfully. He pushed roughly past Fett, letting him keep the canteen as he headed to where he’d parked his speeder bike. He heard Fett swear softly behind him.

“Poor choice of words,” Fett muttered.

Din ignored him. He didn’t need to be babysat. What he needed was to be left alone. He needed time to…to figure out what came next. If anything. 

“Din…it’s Cobb Vanth.”

Din stopped mid-step. His skin went electric, his brain fuzzy at the mention of the name. Cobb Vanth. Every day that he’d been on Tatooine, Din had debated whether he should go see him. There was something about the Marshal’s crooked grin, his relaxed manner, that Din hoped would…help him. However, he talked himself out of it every time. Vanth had his own life, his own responsibilities. He didn’t need an old acquaintance dropping in for an unannounced visit…even if he had told Din he’d hoped their paths would cross again.

“What about him?” Din asked, every part of him alert. He knew that Fett was familiar with the Marshal, they’d even discussed his personal history with the man who’d worn Fett’s armor. Well, Din listened, Fett talked. There’d been long hours in hyperspace on _Slave I_. 

Fett slid his helmet off so that Din could see his face. His pained expression made Din’s breath stop, his entire world collapsing into a single black point. 

“Where is he?” Din asked.

“At the palace. Fennec’s watching over him.”

Din was already moving towards his speeder bike before Fett even finished his sentence. His heart raced, his gut twisted. Something had happened to Vanth. Something terrible. Something so terrible that Boba Fett—the new, self-appointed King of Tatooine—had come out here personally to get him. 

_I’m coming, Cobb. Just hold on._


	5. {Cobb * Fennec * Boba} Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I have a plan to help Cobb. Let me explain it first before you act.”_

Cobb dreamed. He felt weightless, floating in the scorched, cloudless sky. He looked down at the rippling dunes, the craggy rocks, the squat settlements with the indifference of a bird. This place. It was more than sand and stone. He reached out, and he could _feel_ the life thrumming through the land, all the creatures, the scarce vegetation, the people. Survivors. Each and every one. 

The beacon of life energy drew him towards the cities, the clusters of lives in Mos Eisley, Mos Espa. So much fear. Anger. Suffering. Cities built on blood by captive hands. Lineages of slaves, people born and dying in bondage, building wealth for parasites who sucked the planet of its oil, minerals, and water. 

He felt out to the deserts, marveling at the power of the krayt dragons, sarlaccs and other massive beasts that ruled the subterranean world. On the surface of the desert, he found brilliant pockets of life as old as the desert itself, older even--the Tuskens and Jawas, the first people of this planet. They were as much a part of Tatooine as the rocks and the sun and the scant, precious moisture in the air. 

Never, in all of his years, had Cobb Vanth ever thought of Tatooine as beautiful. Now, tapped in as he was into the planet’s very essence, he felt it’s vibrancy reverberating through him, becoming one with him. 

He looked up, where pale blue began to darken to grey, and wondered if he could reach even farther. Could he fly through the atmosphere, see the stars himself? Could he finally break the orbit of the only planet he’d ever known? 

He _reached_ up…

And someone reached back.

**********

Fennec was checking the numbers on Cobb's pulse oximeter when she sensed someone hovering in the open doorway. She looked up, expecting to see another of her agents waiting to report in, but the gleam of silver—no, _beskar_ —told her that Boba had been successful in his mission.

She didn’t say anything to Mando, but gave a little jerk of the head to let him know he was welcome in when he was ready. She went back to taking readings and recording them in her datapad, giving Mando a moment to collect himself. 

Eventually, she heard his heavy footfalls approach, then stop halfway to the gurney. He was quiet for so long that Fennec started to get worried. Mando was already in rough shape, still reeling from the separation from his foundling and his accidental “inheritance.” Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to call him in after all.

“How long’s he been unconscious?” Mando’s voice was flat, carefully controlled.

“He’s been asleep two hours now. Before that, he’d been technically awake, but nonresponsive. I could get him to walk, sit, lift his limbs with physical cues, but he wouldn’t respond to anything. Fett thinks it’s a fugue state.”

“What’s causing it?” 

Fennec filled him in on the deteriorating slaver’s chip. Mando was starting with the easy questions. The technical questions. 

“How did this happen?” He asked. There was an edge of danger to his voice.

“Slavers got hold of him. Diamond Star Corporation. They tried to use him as a bargaining chip to open negotiations with Fett.”

Mando didn’t move, except for the slow curl of a fist.

“What did they do to him?”

Fennec knew what he was asking, and her heart squeezed so hard that she couldn’t breathe. 

“They broke him.”

“How many days?”

“Mando, are you—”

“How. Many. Days?” His voice was iced steel, sharp and dangerous.

“Three, judging by the coloration of the oldest bruises.” 

Mando didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He was breathing so hard that she could hear the rasp of his inhale through the helmet.

“Where are they?” 

“They’re in our custody. Alive.”

“They won’t be for long.”

Mando turned on his heel, striding away faster than she’d ever seen. 

“Mando, wait!” she chased after him, panic rising. “You can’t kill them!”

“Watch me.”

“Din, listen to me!” She used his real name. He’d never given her permission, but she’d heard Boba use it when he thought no one else could hear them. 

It had the desired effect. He stopped short, and fixed her with a glare she could feel through the helmet’s visor. To her credit, she didn’t flinch. 

“You can’t kill them until we transfer the life-signature on the chip’s remote!” She dug in her pocket, and pulled out the controller. “You kill them, you kill Cobb.”

Mando’s body didn’t exactly relax, but it stopped leaning towards the dungeons. 

“I have a plan to help Cobb. Let me explain it first before you act.” Fennec motioned back towards the medical bay. “Please.”

Mando gave a curt nod, and headed back towards the medical bay. He stopped short at the door again. 

“Can we talk somewhere else?”

“Of course. Just let me call someone to watch him. Go to the briefing room. Boba will join us there.”

**********

Boba had his helmet off and a drink in his hand while he waited in the briefing room for Din and Fennec. He didn’t usually indulge in spotchka while he was in planning mode, but given that this was Fennec’s show to run, he allowed himself the small comfort. 

Din arrived first. Boba could feel the fury radiating off of him before he even turned to greet him.

“This is your fault.” 

Boba balked. Of all the reactions he was expecting from Din, this was not it. He narrowed his eyes, studying Din. He was upset, yes. Unstable, yes. Still, he had no right to talk to him in such a manner.

“How is this my fault?”

“You coming here. Taking power. It was only a matter of time before someone made the connection between Vanth and you and the armor.”

“That was Cobb’s risk to take when he put it on.”

“You heartless son of a—”

“Heartless? I could have killed Cobb Vanth a dozen times over in the past five years. Easily. I’ve had his head in my scopes. Been close enough to slip a knife between his ribs. I could have taken my armor back any time I wanted to.”

“Then why did you let him keep it?”

“Because he’d earned it.”

“He's not Mandalorian.”

“Neither am I, depending on who you ask. By that token, neither are you, anymore.”

Din seemed to shrink before Boba’s very eyes. He turned his head aside, him shame easy to read. Good. Din would listen now.

“I sacrificed my armor to save my own skin. If I’d been a good little Mando’ade, I would have died a slow, painful death rather than shed that identity. But I’m not. I’m a survivor.”

Boba look a long, slow sip, letting the spotchka burn a clean line down his throat and a wave of calm wash over his nerves.

“Vanth was wearing my own armor the day he saved my life. Do you know how humbling that is? To look up and see your own face, your father’s face, staring back at you? How could I kill him? What honor was there in that? To repay a life debt with treachery?”

“Is that why you followed me to Tython?”

Boba nodded. “He’d given it up freely. It was mine to claim again.”

“Would you have killed me if…if things had gone differently?”

“Do yourself a favor, Din. Stop playing the game of ‘what if?’ It’s the fastest way to madness.”

“All right then. What if you hadn’t occupied the most high-profile seat on this planet? Would these two slavers have used him as a way to gain your favor?”

The spotchka curled sourly in Boba’s belly. 

“No. They may have just kept him to themselves instead.” 

Din’s fists clenched so tightly Boba could hear the leather of his gloves creak.

“I’m only going to tell you this once, Din, so listen well. I know you want someone to blame for this, but blaming yourself is not going to change what happened, or help him get better.”

Din’s hands went slack, his shoulders sagging. Boba’s assessment was correct. He wasn’t mad at him…Din was mad at himself.

“I…I should have gone to see him,” Din said quietly. “I’d been thinking about it since we arrived. If I’d been with him—”

His words were interrupted by Fennec entering the room. She shut the door behind her, and turned with her datapad in hand. If she noticed Din’s state, she chose not to comment on it. 

“Pour me one of those, will you, Boba?” Fennec nodded towards the glowing decanter. 

“Of course, _cyar’ika_.” He went to get her a glass. “Din? Care for one?”

Din shook his head, which didn’t surprise Boba at all. He poured Fennec a glass, and handed it to her. She gave him a tired smile in thanks. Here, away from the eyes of their acolytes and agents, they could show their affection for each other. 

“All right,” Fennec sighed, “we’re all brought up to speed on Cobb’s current situation. What concerns us now is his future. He needs skilled medical help to get that chip out of his head. My hope is that once it’s removed, they’ll be able to also heal some of the neurological damage with a bacta flush, but that’ll be up to the med droids.”

“There’s no facilities that sophisticated on Tatooine,” Din noted.

“Exactly. Which is why he needs you to take him to a New Republic core world to get the help he needs.”

Din balked. “New Republic?”

“It’ll be quicker and easier than dealing with an independent system, and there’s no way we’re taking him to an Imperial remnant. Besides, you have a close contact in the New Republic.”

Din nodded, understanding instantly. 

“We’ll pay for the expenses,” Boba added in. “Provide you with a ship to get you where you need to go.”

Din turned to Fennec. “Will you be joining me?”

“I wish I could, but as soon as any New Republic entity scans my chain code, they’ll throw me in jail. Cara assured me of it.” She gave a wry smile.

“So it’s just me,” Din asked. 

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Din looked between Boba and Fennec. “I’ll need medical supplies to monitor Vanth on the way.”

“The ship is already fully stocked,” Fennec tapped on her tablet, and handed it to Din. “Go over the list and see if there’s anything else you need.”

Boba smiled behind his glass, watching as she and Din discussed the supply list. Fennec was amazing. As much a planner as she was a hunter. Smart, deadly, and beautiful. Had fate dealt her a different hand, she would’ve been a noble. Maybe a senator, an elected queen. Fate was cruel, however, as Boba knew all too well, and thus Fennec had been forced to do the only thing she knew how to do: survive.

“The additions will be on the ship within the hour,” she told Din. “We found you another gunship. It’s not the _Razor Crest_ , but it’s an Appazanna model. Auzituck.”

Din’s arms dropped to the side in surprise. “You have a Wookie gunship?”

“Not anymore. You do.” Boba said.

Din’s head whipped to Boba. “I can’t afford something that big.”

“Then consider it advanced payment for taking on this job.”

“I…” Din was speechless. “It’s too high a cost.”

“Is Cobb Vanth’s life worth that price?”

Din stiffened and straightened his spine. Good. Boba’s reasoning had gotten through.

“If I do not see this through, then I will return the ship,” Din said slowly.

“Agreed.” Boba nodded, satisfied. It was settled. The ship was his, because Din wouldn’t fail. 

“How soon can Cobb be transferred to the ship?” Din asked.

“As soon as we finish the transfers,” Fennec said. 

“Transfers?” Din asked.

“First, registering the Auzituck to you so it won't come up as stolen. Then, transferring Cobb’s slave chip signature to you.”

Din balked. “No. I am no slaver.”

“It’s the only way we can get him off-world without it activating the escape deterrent,” Fennec said. 

“Can’t you just turn it off?”

“I’m afraid to try with it in this disintegrating state. If it misfires…” Fennec’s words trailed off. “It means you’ll have to stay within a 100 meters of him at all times until it’s removed.”

Din looked between Boba and Fennec with a strained helplessness. Boba understood. Yet another cruel choice Din was faced with: he wanted to help his friend, but he didn’t want this burden. 

“Set it up.” Din said quickly, as if afraid he’d change his mind if he didn’t talk fast. “The sooner we can leave, the sooner we can get that chip out of his head.”

“If it’s any consolation, once we have the tether transferred, we can finally kill the slavers.”

Din didn’t respond. He just turned on his heel, and left the briefing room. 

Fennec met Boba’s eye across the table. “That went smoother than I thought it would.”

“He’s easy to talk to, once you know the buttons to push.”

Fennec snorted. “For you.”

Boba softened, and extended an arm to Fennec, his hand curling in invitation. She slid up to him, and fit herself in the curve of his arm, resting her head against his gently. Now that they were truly alone, they could feel the full weight of their chosen roles, hold each other up under their weight. 

“We need to do more,” Fennec said.

“We’ve done all we can for him, _cyar’ika_. We’ve put him in the most capable hands we know.”

“Not for Cobb. For all of them. All the slaves.” She pulled back enough so that he could see the fire in her eyes. “The galaxy doesn’t give a shit about them. Never has. The Old Republic was too high and mighty to care. The Empire tripled the trade. So far, this New Republic has only made weak noises about ‘penalties’ and 'fees’ for companies that are found utilizing slave labor.”

“So, what ideas are brewing in that powerful brain of yours?” 

“We have the power here, like you said. We more intel, more resources, and more connections than we’ve ever had in our lives. It’s time we rise above being killers and crimelords. It’s time we become real agents of change.”

Boba was already shaking his head. He loved Fennec’s passion, but it just wasn’t realistic. True, they did have credits and influence, but it wasn’t enough to stop a deeply-embedded system like slavery.

“We start small,” Fennec’s tone remained even, “local. You’ve already let your stance on owning slaves be known, now we need to extend that beyond words. We need to show the penalty for anyone who traffics in slaves in our territories…and abolish the practice for good.”

Boba was quiet, mulling Fennec’s plan over in his head. This morning, his greatest concern had been negotiating with the bounty hunters guild and acquiring more defense resources for the perimeter. Now…was he really considering risking everything he’d scraped and fought for to organize a revolution?

“I need time to think about this, Fennec,” Boba said, extracting himself gently from her embrace. “There’s a lot to consider.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step back. “Just consider where Cobb wouldn’t be now if he hadn’t had that slaver chip implanted in his head at birth.”

Then, she turned on her heel and strode out, leaving Boba alone with his conflicting thoughts.


	6. {Din Djarin} The Chariot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hey. Marshal. Can you hear me?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Cakes (GuenVanHelsing) for betaing this chapter!

The controls of the Auzituck felt strange under his hands. They were similar to those of the _Razor Crest_ , but they were just different enough to throw him off. His muscle memory would have him reaching to toggle the stabilizer, and he’d turn on the boosters instead. 

Just another reminder of how different everything was now.

It was a strange comfort, oddly enough. Din didn’t know if he could’ve stood to see the empty spot on the passenger seat. As this ship was designed, there wasn’t even a seat there at all, just a control bank. That suited him just fine.

As he cleared Tatooine’s atmosphere, the pale blue sky darkening to the diamond-pricked midnight of space, it felt like a weight was being lifted from his chest. He breathed deep, drinking in the expanse of space opening up before him. He hadn’t realized just how much of his state had been tied into being grounded. He’d been so engulfed in his fresh losses and his burdens that he’d forgotten just how deep a part of him ached for the stars. 

For the first time in months, Din began to feel a little like himself again.

It took him a few minutes to figure out the configuration of the ship’s comm, but once he did, he punched in a familiar number. The holovid’s “connecting” glyph went through four cycles before Cara Dune picked up the line. 

“Mando!” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice or the sparkle from her eyes. “Not the handsome face I was expecting when I answered a new number!”

 _Handsome._ He blushed. Not because he believed her compliment. It was a joke. Which was why he blushed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a genuine friend close enough to joke with.

“Looking at the number, looks like this is coming from a new ship. You up and flying again?” 

“Something like that,” Din said. 

“Well, it’s good to see you out and about, bud.” She sounded like a proud older sister congratulating him on getting back on a blurrg after being thrown. Irritating. 

“I need your help,” Din said bluntly.

Her smile faltered. “Of course you do. It’s never just a social call with you. In case you’re wondering, I’m doing just fine. So’s Karga. His ulcer’s been acting up, but it’s nothing a bit of—”

“Cara. I need to get a friend to a New Republic medical facility. A lawman.”

Cara’s expression changed instantly, as Din knew it would. She sat up straighter, her features tightening in concentration. 

“Tell me what happened.”

Din explained all the details that he felt Cara needed to know. She was already typing on her keyboard before Din was finished. 

“Let’s see, there’s actually a New Republic medical frigate not too far from where you are, in orbit around D’Qar. I can send a message for them to hold position for you until you arrive.”

“Thank you,” Din said. “I should be there in about ten hours.”

“Hey, glad to help a fellow marshal out,” Cara shrugged.

He wanted to turn off the com now that he had the information he needed. However, he owed Cara now. 

He cleared his throat. “How’s the job?”

Cara looked pleasantly surprised at Din’s question. “Good. We flushed out another couple of gangs, and were able to draw in a few new businesses to set up shop here. There’s even plans to get a grav-ball team, which has Karga very excited.”

Din felt his lips curl up into a small smile. It was…nice to know that life was progressing well for his friends.

“So, I know you have to go, but, um…have you heard anything about the kid?”

The tendrils of hope that Din had been weaving together unraveled. “No.”

There was no way they could’ve contacted him. He’d had no ship for deep-space communication, and didn’t have a connection at the moisture farm he’d been squatting in. He’d been off the grid for months. 

“Ah, I see.” Cara bit her lip, thinking. “Do…do you want me to see if I can get a message to them? I mean, it’ll take some work, but I know I can get through to Princess Organa. She has an open line to all children of Alderaan—"

“That won’t be necessary,” Din cut her off. It was all he could do to keep from hanging up the call then and there. 

Cara tightened her lips in frustration. Her eyes, though, shone with something Din couldn’t stand--pity.

“OK, Mando.” Cara sighed. “If you change your mind…”

“Thank you for your help,” Din said, keeping his voice even. 

“Any time. Really.”

Din hung up the call, and let out a deep, shuddering breath. Could it really be that easy to see Grogu again? Just a few calls away…

_No. You’ll just distract him from what he really needs to be focusing on. He belongs with the Jedi._

_Not with you._

Din shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind, locking them behind steel walls. He had a mission. Someone else who needed his help right now. He had to keep his head in the game. 

He punched in the coordinates for the medical frigate, and made the jump into hyperspace. Pinpoints became streaks became swirls, and he felt the smile tug at the corners of his lips again. He was free.

Unlike Cobb. 

Din swallowed hard. There was no avoiding it anymore. He should go check on his passenger.

He navigated his way back to the passenger bay, which was big enough to hold two dozen armed Wookies shoulder-to-shoulder. Fennec’s team had prepped it for triage rather than combat, pulling down one of the medical bunks from the wall and laying Cobb upon it. He was hooked up to machines that monitored his heart rate and breathing, the soft chirps and whirrs sounding artificially cheerful. They were designed to be soothing, but anytime Din had heard them it meant something terrible was happening. 

Din didn’t know what to do. Cobb was stable, but Din could see the slightest glint hiding under his eyelashes. He was awake, then, though his expression remained slack and empty.

“Hey. Marshal.” Din kept his voice low and soothing. He made himself step closer. “Can you hear me?”

Cobb didn’t respond.

Din pulled down the bunk closest to Cobb and leaned forward, putting himself in his frame of vision.

“It’s me.” He thought for a second. “Mando. You’re safe and on your way to medical attention.” 

Nothing.

“It’s OK if you don’t feel ready to talk yet. If you can hear me, though, can you blink for me?”

Din held his breath until the count of ten. Cobb didn’t move. He just…wasn’t there.

Din sighed, his heart heavy. It was going to be a long ten hours. 

He knew he should take this time to familiarize himself with his new ship, explore the layout, plan how he was going to make this home. He just didn’t have the strength right now. He hadn’t had the strength for much in weeks. 

He laid down beside Cobb. Within minutes, he was asleep.

**************

He awoke to the sound of a gentle, yet urgent trill. It was such an organic sound he could have sworn it was birdsong, but it was the ship itself. As he opened his eyes, he saw the green light flashing on the wall, meaning the ship was approaching its destination.

Din shook himself, chasing the sleep away as he got to his feet. How could they be there already? It was supposed to be a ten-hour jump. He checked the chrono on the wall—it’d been nearly that long. Din was stunned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten so much uninterrupted sleep. Not since before Tython, certainly, and if he thought back further…

The kid. Not since he’d acquired the kid.

He looked down at Cobb, who seemed to be actually asleep this time, then checked the monitors. Everything seemed to be fine, the machines doing their jobs of providing and evacuating fluids. Fennec had offered him a medical droid to keep an eye on Cobb, but Din had refused. He was glad he didn’t have to eat those words now.

Din stepped into the refresher, taking stock of the small space as the door slid shut behind him. It had everything he needed to be comfortable, including a high shelf just the perfect size for stashing his helmet and gloves. Fennec had thought of everything. He took advantage of it, taking a few minutes to relieve himself and freshen up a bit. 

It felt like a new day. His brain wasn’t as clouded, his heart didn’t ache quite so keenly. He glanced a look at himself in the small mirror. His face was still puffy from sleep, but the circles under his eyes were…well, not gone, but faded at least. His hair was in need of a trim, though, and his patchy beard was well overdue for a shave. His thin mustache was starting to curl over his lip. At some point soon he’d have to take care of that. 

It was the first time he’d thought about it in months.

The trilling alarm returned, and Din replaced his helmet and gloves before heading out. As he passed Cobb on the way to the cockpit, he stopped.

“Just hang on a bit longer, Marshal. We’re almost to the medical frigate.”

He made his way to his seat and strapped himself in. It took him a few seconds to remember yet again that this wasn’t the Razor Crest, and find the controls he needed to pull the ship out of hyperspace. Blurs became lines became dots, revealing the grey-green planet of D’Qar. It took the Auzituck’s sensors a few moments to locate the frigate through the noise of the planet’s rocky ring, but eventually they locked on. 

As it came into view, Din recognized the medical frigate as a Nebulon-B class. He was familiar with their general layout—he’d had a job extracting a wanted code-breaker who’d been undergoing a cosmetic treatment. Din had dragged the Quarren out by their tentacles from the surgery suite to the docking bay, them screaming all the while that if Din turned them over, the Hutts would kill him. Din had turned them in anyway.

Din felt a pang in his chest. It seemed almost like someone else’s memory. All that had mattered back then had been the credits, the prestige. Providing for the covert. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was…was…

Taking care of Cobb.

“Unidentified Auzituck,” Din’s comm crackled to life, “this is New Republic medical frigate _Redemption_. Do you require medical assistance?”

“Yes. I was sent here by New Republic Marshal Cara Dune of Novarro. I have a lawman on board who needs immediate medical attention. I’m sending over my transponder code now.”

“Stand by.” 

The comm went quiet, and Din held his breath. What if there was a problem? What if somehow, Cara’s clearance wasn’t enough. The Republic liked to paint themselves as the “good guys,” but they were just as enamored of order and protocol as the Empire had been. They were just slightly less oppressive orders and protocols. Supposedly.

“Unidentified Auzituck, you’ve cleared for docking. Head for bay 3, a medical staff will meet you with a gurney.”

“Understood.” Din clicked off the comm, his gut twisting as he headed towards the bay. This was too easy. Things never went this easily for him. Ever. As he maneuvered his gunship into the docking bay and started the landing cycle, he kept waiting to see a squad of New Republic troopers waiting to arrest him. Technically, he was still wanted for that break-in. Cara said she’d found a way to bury it in the records, but things like that had a way of coming back to bite him in the back. 

He didn’t have much of a choice though. Cobb needed help, and the New Republic could help him. If that meant Din had to risk some jail time, so be it. 

By the time Din had Cobb’s gurney’s repulsorlifts ready to go, he could see the medical team approaching through the ship’s clear canopy. He could also see a small security detail escorting them. His stomach twisted tighter. It was probably protocol. 

_No, it’s not. It’s trouble._

Din swallowed hard. Being a Mandalorian, there was no hiding, no disguising what he was. One look at his beskar armor, and they’d have those blasters trained on him within minutes. Once they had Cobb, though, they’d be oath-bound to provide him service. It’s how doctors worked, right?

He took a deep breath, and opened the loading hatch. He pushed Cobb forward slowly, keeping both his hands on the gurney. 

As soon as his boots hit the deck, he heard the tell-tale swish of blasters being drawn on him. Din immediately put his hands out in front of him. 

“Please lower your weapons!” Din called out. “I have an injured lawman here! I was told by New Republic Marshal Cara Dune of Novarro that he could receive medical attention!”

The guards’ expressions didn’t change, but the doctors exchanged a nervous look between them. One of them, a Zabrack with delicate features, cleared their throat as they checked their datapad. “I see the message. However, Marshal Dune didn’t tell us to expect a bounty hunter.” Their mouth curled around the words like something distasteful.

“He is not my bounty. He’s a lawman from Tatooine. Cobb Vanth.” 

“Tatooine?” The human doctor’s brows knitted in confusion. “The New Republic has no jurisdiction there.”

Din’s impatience began to rise. “But you still have to help him. He’s a marshal.”

The Zabrack’s eyebrow arched. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Since Tatooine isn’t under New Republic jurisdiction, we cannot verify whether he’s a legitimate lawman.”

“Are you going to help him or not?” Din was losing the battle with his temper. “Because if you can’t treat him, then I will find somewhere else that will.”

“I’m sorry, sir, we can’t let you leave before we do a full record check on the both of you. I need to scan your chain codes.”

Din’s temples throbbed, his jaw clenched. It took every ounce of patience not to scream his frustration at this bureaucracy that only served to delay Cobb’s treatment. He pulled deep inside of himself, and forced himself to take a deep breath. This was not going to go well.

“If I would hazard a guess, you’ll find his embedded in the tracing chip embedded in the back of his skull.”

The Zabrack doctor’s expression changed almost immediately. “He’s chipped?”

Din nodded. “It malfunctioned when it was reactivated a few days ago. He’s been in this state since.”

They strode forward, ignoring the guard’s calls for them to step back into their protective perimeter. 

“Show me,” they ordered Din, pulling a pair of enhanced spectacles from their coat pocket and perching them on their nose.

Din put his hands down slowly, and rolled Cobb over far enough so that they could see the angry, red mass at the nape of Cobb’s neck. They paled, lips thinning into a grim line. 

“You two,” they pointed to the guards on the right, “get this man to the surgery suite immediately, and tell the 21-B to prepare for procedure 4568.”

Relief flooded Din’s chest as he watched the two guards approach. They would help Cobb after all.

“You two,” the doctor pointed to the guards on the left, “take the bounty hunter to the detention area.”

Din’s blood ran cold. “Detention?”

The Zabrack stepped back defensively behind the guards. “Possession of a slave is punishable by up to 20 years in a New Republic prison or a fine of twenty thousand credits.”

Din was aghast. “Wait, you think I…? But I’m not! He’s my friend!”

“Look, you have to understand how this looks.” The Zabrack’s voice was hard. “I’ve worked in a lot of rough places. Every time I’ve had a bounty hunter bring me an escaped slave with a malfunctioning chip it’s because they’re trying to reclaim them for their captors, and they messed it up somehow.”

Frustration and fury roiled in Din. Not at the slight to his character, but the fact that she’d seen enough bounty hunters bring in escaped slaves that she knew the pattern.

“I give you my word, as a Mandalorian, that I am not his captor, nor do I intend to return him to them. I brought him here to have the chip removed and the damage repaired. He is a free man. He deserves to be in body as well.”

The Zabrack considered Din’s words carefully. 

“Do you have the tracker in your possession? Or is it still on the ship?” the human doctor asked, trying to keep his voice even. 

Din reached down to get it out of his belt pouches, but all the guards jerked their blasters at him. 

“Which pocket?” the nearest guard asked.

“Left,” Din gritted out. He forced himself to stay as still as possible as the guard fished the tracker out and handed it to the doctor. “It’d been programmed to me for ease of transport.”

“Who programmed it?” the Zabrack asked. 

_A wanted assassin, on the orders of the new crime lord of Tatooine._

“A friend with technical knowledge, after they rescued him from his captors.”

The Zabrack studied Din for a long, hard moment. Din kept himself motionless, hands up. 

“Will you cooperate with New Republic authorities?” they asked.

The maddening thing was that he could easily take down all of them. Maybe he should. Cobb was in their possession now. He could fight his way out easily, without hurting anyone permanently, even. 

_You’d really abandon Cobb here? Have him wake up alone and afraid on some hospital ship? If you cooperate, you have a chance of being able to stay close._

“I will, on one condition.” 

“You’re not really in a position to be making demands.”

“I need to be in the room when he comes to. Please. He’s…he’s been through a lot. He’ll need a familiar face.”

The Zabrack’s eyebrow raised at Din, their gaze raking critically across his helmet. However, they seemed to be able to read the desperation in Din’s voice, the entreaty in his posture. 

Din continued. “I will be no trouble. His care is my priority.”

They gave a curt nod. “Fine. You’ll do so while remaining in custody until we can get transport to the nearest New Republic holding facility.”

Din swallowed hard. “Agreed.” 

He slowly put his arms down and presented his wrists. He didn’t move as he let them snap binders around his wrists and disarm him. He was glad the beskar spear and darksaber were hidden in a compartment on the ship. Though, of course, he wasn’t sure if he’d be seeing that ship again. 

As the guards led him away, he watched the other pair push Cobb’s gurney towards the surgical suite, the two doctors already talking rapidly over his prone body.

 _Be well, my friend._ Din sent a thought towards him, heart aching. _I’ll see you on the other side._


	7. {Cobb Vanth} The Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Mando? No, you…you can’t be here.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Cakes (GuenVanHelsing) for betaing this chapter!

As Cobb awoke, he knew immediately that he wasn’t on Tatooine anymore. The air here was just…wrong. It was too cold on his skin, smelled like plastic and antiseptic. There was no life to it, no touch of sun or sand. He shivered, pushed down deeper into the bed he was on.

Wait? Bed?

He pushed himself further along into consciousness, forcing his eyes to open. His vision was still blurred, but there wasn’t much to see. He was in a dimly lit room that felt somewhat…big. Too much space around him. He couldn’t hear anyone else. There was the beep and whir of quiet machines, but that was about it.

Maker, where was he?

He brought his hand up to rub his eyes, and felt a sharp prick on the back of his hand. 

“Ow!” He muttered, and tried to remove the offender. It was a tube of some type, stuck into his hand with a needle.

What were they doing to him?

Who was they?

He was so confused. He’d been in Mos Eisley. Then he’d been…been…

Floating above the kriffing planet.

“Hello?” he called quietly. 

There was the soft swish of an automatic door sliding open, and Cobb turned his head towards the sudden flood of light pouring in. He could make out a pair of dark silhouettes, though his eyes couldn’t focus in on any of the details. 

“Is someone there?” he asked. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

The figures stepped closer, one with a heavy footfall. He could hear the rasp of breathing, as if through a helmet…

The shape of the head came clear: a dome. A smooth, metal dome. A helmet. A familiar helmet. Mandalorian. 

Oiler’s spiteful words flooded back. _“The Mandalorian whose armor you stole.”_

_Boba Fett._

Cobb’s heart slammed into overdrive as his memories came screaming back. 

Oiler. Whipper. The pain, the chip, the pain, the whip, the humiliation, I belong to you belong belong belong oh maker the chip the chip—

_You’re a slave again, Cobb. They gave you to Fett._

“No,” Cobb breathed, fear choking his words, “please, I didn’t mean to steal it! I gave it back! I gave it to Mando! Find Mando, find—”

“Hey! Hey! Cobb, I’m here! It’s me!” Mando’s voice broke through the panic swirling through Cobb. A moment later, the silhouette stepped into the light, and Cobb could easily see the glint of silver bouncing off his helmet and armor.

“Mando?” Cobb’s voice broke. He must be dreaming. This was too cruel a joke, some sort of fresh torture designed to hurt him further. “No, you…you can’t be here.”

Mando moved closer, slowly, as if he were approaching a spooked dewback. 

“Marshal Vanth,” said a second, softer voice. “You’re safe. You’re on a New Republic medical frigate, where you just received medical attention for your injuries.”

“I’m where?” Cobb was even more disoriented. On a New Republic frigate? Frigate, like, as in a _ship_? In space? It was too much information at once, none of it making any kriffing sense! New Republic, frigate, Mando…

_Mando._

“Marsh—Cobb,” Mando’s cool voice cut through the noise in Cobb’s head. “Focus on me. Do you remember me? The krayt dragon?”

Finally, something that made sense. A memory that Cobb had clung to, played over and over in his mind since Mando had left. He looked up at the Mandalorian, a glimmer of hope blooming in his chest. Mando nodded encouragingly. He held out his hands, and Cobb saw that they were bound together at the wrists. The sight of them made Cobb balk. There was no way Mando would be in cuffs. He was dreaming.

“His heart rate is increasing!” The second voice called.

“It’s the cuffs!” Mando barked. “They’re spooking him.”

“Then put them down!” 

Mando tried to hide them, but Cobb’s eyes followed them. Had they captured Mando, too? Were they using him as part of this game? 

“Cobb, what was the first thing I ever said to you?” Mando asked.

Cobb didn’t even need to think. The memory was imprinted in his mind, “Take it off, or I will.”

Mando nodded encouragingly. “Who did I have with me?”

“The kiddo. That little green cutie with the big ol’ ears and dark eyes.”

Just thinking about the kid made the knot in Cobb’s chest loosen. His tiny, toothy smile. His curiosity. His innocence. 

_Warmth and safety and friendship and love and Maker so much love in that tiny heart…_

“Where is he?” Cobb asked. Something inside of him desperately wanted to see the boy. “Is he here?”

“No. He’s safe. Happy.”

“Good. That’s…good.” The thought of that little green baby being safe and happy made Cobb’s chest loosen, his fear lessen. 

“You’re safe, too, Cobb. I promise you.”

“If I’m so safe, then why are you wearing those binders?”

“The New Republic put me in them because they’re trying to keep you safe.”

“From who?”

“From me.”

“Why?”

“Because I brought you here.”

Cobb’s breath hitched. Had Mando somehow heard him across time and space…

“You saved me?” Cobb whispered. It was too good to be true.

“I wish I had.” Mando said. “I was charged with finding you medical help.”

“You’re here. You’re really…you’re really…” Cobb couldn’t speak anymore. His throat was choked. He reached out to Mando, and Mando extended his bound hands to Cobb once again. This time, the cuffs didn’t frighten him the way they had before. Cobb hesitated a second before touching Mando’s glove. The leather covering his fingers was so worn it was soft, warmed by the heat of Mando’s hand. He traced the edge of durasteel plate protecting his knuckles. It was solid. Real. 

His gaze fixed on the sheen of Mando’s chest plate, and his fingers gravitated towards it. He’d thought of that armor—dreamt about it—the light in the darkness that kept him alive. Cobb felt his cheeks heat. What would Mando think if he knew that? It was probably sacrilegious to his creed or something. At the very least, it was weird.

“It’s OK,” Mando said, his voice soft. “You can touch it.”

Cobb flicked his gaze up to Mando’s armored face, and was encouraged by his little nod. Cobb swallowed hard, and worked up the courage to close the distance.

He laid his palm against the bottom of Mando’s armor, letting out a shuddering breath. The metal was smooth and cool and strong, so very strong. Just like Mando himself. He wouldn’t have gotten himself caught, or whipped, or…or…

“Hey, hey…it’s OK, Cobb. You’re OK.” Mando soothed. 

Maker, why did his voice sound so _good_? It was like his armor, but liquid, and poured over the raw parts inside of Cobb. He felt himself curling forward, falling towards Mando, and krif if Mando wasn’t catching him, bolstering him with his shoulder.

Mando didn’t say anything. He just let Cobb rest on him, breathing deep. Mando smelled like Tatooine, the salt of deeply-embedded sand, the warmth of sun-scorched fabric. Under it all, he could smell _him_ , musky sweat and the tang of metal, and Cobb wanted to just crawl under Mando’s armor with him, hide inside where he could never be hurt again.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Cobb finally managed, forcing himself to pull back. 

“ _Burc'ya vaal burk'yc, burc'ya veman._ ” For a second, Cobb thought that something was wrong with his hearing. Then he realized that Mando was speaking in some language Cobb didn’t understand. 

“You are my…friend. You needed me. I came,” Mando clarified.

“I…I thank you for it. Truly,” Cobb whispered. He was feeling bone-tired, suddenly, like he did after a day of working out in the sun. He sank back onto the pillows on the bed, even if they were too soft. His eyelids tried to close, but he fought them. He didn’t want to sleep. What if this still was some strange, wonderful dream? He didn’t want to risk it. To wake up and find himself back in Oiler and Whipper’s clutches, or worse, in Boba Fett’s…it would kill him.

“Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?” Mando asked gently.

“You’d do that?” Cobb asked, well and truly surprised. 

“Of course.”

“That’d be…that’d be nice.” Cobb let his eyes close, breathed in deep. He could still smell Mando, hear the creak of his armor. As long as he was here, Cobb was safe. 

_Safe._


	8. {Din * Cobb} The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“So, doc. What’s the news?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Cakes (GuenVanHelsing) for betaing this chapter!

Din’s shoulder blades burned, his spine ached, and his biceps cried out from holding the awkward pose in the cuffs. Still, he did not move from his position half-hovering over Cobb until he was sure he was fully asleep.

It reminded him of the first nights with Grogu, when the kid was too nervous to sleep in his little hammock on the _Razor Crest_ , and Din would try everything he could to get him to sleep there. It was a holdover from his time in the Covert. He’d learned from his night shifts with the foundlings that children had to get used to sleeping in their own spaces, no matter what. So he’d spent long hours standing up, hovering over Grogu’s hammock, rocking it and humming, willing him to sleep so Din could as well.

Huh. The memory didn’t sting quite so much this time. 

Once Cobb’s breathing had deepened and evened, Din stepped back, biting back his groans as his muscles moved. He wished he could stretch his arms, but with the cuffs, it wasn’t possible. 

The cuffs. Din’s heart sank. He hadn’t told Cobb that they were taking him away to a detention facility. How was Cobb going to react when he awoke and found Din gone? Maybe they’d be willing to wait to take him until he could secure passage for Din back to Tatooine. Or let him record a holomessage?

“Bounty hunter,” the Zabrack doctor called quietly, “will you please come with me?”

Din nodded. He allowed himself one last look at Cobb. He looked so peaceful, all the fear and worry smoothed off his face by sleep. Din’s fingers itched to push back the long strands of silver hair that had flopped onto his forehead. 

Instead, he steeled himself, and stepped away. He followed the doctor out of the recovery room and down a short hallway. As the door slid open, he fully expected to find a detention cell waiting on the other side. Instead, he was greeted by a small office. 

“Please, have a seat,” the doctor motioned to one of the two plush chairs waiting in front of the plastasteel desk. There wasn’t much on the surface of the table: a few datapads, a pot with artificial Felucian ferns, a holopic of a smiling half-zabrack child in the arms of a handsome human. 

Din was confused. “This is not a very secure detention area.”

The Zabrack arched an eyebrow at him, their full lips twisting into a sardonic smile. “And he’s funny, too.” 

They reached over to Din’s cuffs and hit the release button, sliding them off his wrists. 

“I don’t understand,” he said. He was on guard, ready for…something. Was this a trick? A test? A trap?

The doctor sighed. “I was wrong about you, Mandalorian. For that, I am sorry.”

Relief flooded through Din, though it was tempered with caution. He nodded, saying nothing.

“Now that I understand the situation better, I’d like to start over, if you would allow.” The doctor held their hand out. “I am Commander Oakari. I’m in charge of the medical team aboard this frigate.”

Din hesitated a moment. He was not in the habit of giving his name freely to strangers. There was safety in secrecy, which had been ground into him and the other members of the Covert. However, he’d walked in this situation freely, openly. He could not hide—especially if he was still in custody. It would be wisest to cooperate. He tentatively took the offered hand. 

“I am Din Djarin.”

Doctor Oakari gave him a thin smile. “This may be the first time I’ve ever shaken hands with a Mandalorian.”

Din cocked his head. “This is definitely the first time a hand’s been offered me by a New Republic officer.”

“I can imagine,” they said. “Would you take a seat, please? There’s some things we need to discuss about your friend.”

Din did so. “I take it this means you’re not arresting me?”

“No. After what I saw in that room, I know that you’re no slaver.” 

“I’m glad you believe me now.”

“You have to understand, Mr. Djarin. One of the easiest and most lucrative form of bounty hunting is slave retrieval. You can appreciate my concern.”

“Mandalorians do not keep slaves.” 

“But many of you are bounty hunters, are you not?” They held up a hand. “Please. I am not trying to offend. I’m trying to explain my position. Poorly, it seems.”

Din didn’t say anything, but his stomach remained knotted. None of his brothers and sisters who hunted had dealt in escaped slaves. It wasn’t written in their creed, but they all understood how dishonorable it was. However, for all he knew, others who hunted in the armor may have made their reputation in recapturing slaves. He filed the thought away for later. 

Dr. Oakari steepled their fingers, giving Din a measured look. “I need to be honest with you about your friend.”

“Go on.” Din’s stomach dropped, his fingertips tingled. This didn’t sound good.

“Between our 2-1B medical droid and a stint in the bacta tank, we were able to repair the damage done to him.”

“Including the damage the tracing chip did?”

“Yes. However.” They sighed deeply, shoulders sagging. “We cannot remove the chip. Nor disable it.”

Din’s whole body went cold. “What do you mean, you couldn’t fix it?”

“Tracing chips become harder to remove the longer they’ve been inside someone. In Mr. Vanth’s case, it looks like he’s had it there since he was a very young child. The tissue and bone structure have grown to accommodate it over the years.”

_A very young child._ Din couldn’t help it. He thought of Grogu, how small he looked when he’d been strapped into that big machine the Imperial doctors had him trapped him. Anger welled in him, thinking of Cobb, just as small, just as helpless, being put through something as harrowing. 

“Then why can’t you disable it?” Din knew his anger was creeping into his voice. It wouldn’t help anything. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “It seems the next logical option. He’d had it deactivated before.”

To their credit, Dr. Oakari did not flinch at Din’s tone. “Whoever it was that reactivated it ran the current for too long. It damaged something in there, and to be honest, I don’t know enough about the type of tracing chip to try to dare remove it. One wrong move and…” they spread their hands, their brows furrowing, lips tightening. Din didn’t need to hear the words to understand what they were saying.

Din sat back hard in his seat, thoughts spiraling. He was trying to find the angle, the solution, but everything came back to the realization that Cobb had a fucking bomb lodged in his skull…and there was nothing these doctors and medical droids could do.

“I’m sorry to have to give you this news,” Dr. Oakari said softly. “I know this wasn’t what you were hoping for when you came to us. There is one bit of good news in all this, though.”

“Oh?” Din was having a hard time imagining there being any sort of silver lining to this. 

“The chip is stable. For now. There’s very little chance of it going off on its own.”

“But there’s still a chance it could?”

“I’d be lying if I said no.”

Din felt like he’d been punched in the gut. 

“What are his options?” Din asked. He needed a plan. Action. Something— _anything_ —to latch onto.

“Not many. He could try to find someone to remove the chip, knowing the full weight of the risks.”

“Do you know someone who could?”

Dr. Oakari swallowed hard. “No. However, I can put out a query through the New Republic networks. It may take weeks, even months, to find someone qualified enough.”

“What about outside of New Republic networks?” Din asked.

The doctor fixed him with a hard look. “He is free to do that, but that is his choice. Outside of New Republic space, he runs the risk of being re-enslaved. He’s an easy target right now, Mr. Djarin.”

“Understood.” Already Din was mentally putting together a list of contacts. He didn’t know anyone himself, but he knew people connected enough to point him in the right direction. 

“The other option,” Dr. Oakari said, “would be to let the chip alone, and manage the damage on his own.”

“Damage?” Din couldn’t hide his alarm. “You said you were able to repair the damage!”

“The chip will continue to deteriorate. As it does, it will continue to harm his nervous system. He can repair it with regular bacta tank treatments, but that will require him having the resources and equipment to do so.”

Din’s heart clenched. Mos Pelgo barely had enough water for their livestock and hydroponic crops, let alone the resources for a full bacta tank set-up.

“The downside is, the longer the deteriorating chip stays in his head, the chance of it detonating on its own increases. I can’t give you a good estimate, but looking at the condition it’s in, I’d say it would only take a standard year.”

Din couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. Everything inside of him constricted to one dark point, threatening to pull him in like a black hole. 

_One year. One year one year…_

_Boom._

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Oakari’s soft words broke through Din’s spiral. “I wish there was more we could do for him.”

Silence filled the small office, weighing on Din like a physical thing. He needed to get out, get away from the welling of fury and grief that was threatening to escape in a scream.

It wasn’t fucking fair. Why Cobb? 

Dr. Oakari cleared their throat. “I know this is a lot to process. If you’d like to go back to your ship to rest, I can have someone get you when he’s awake.”

Din stood. “Do me a favor. Don’t tell him when he wakes up. Not yet. Let me talk to him first. Please.”

“All right.” They nodded, slowly, then rose. “Would you like me to show you back to the docking bay?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Din was already moving towards the door, before a thought stopped him. He turned back to the doctor. “Please tell me what he owes for this treatment, and I will pay his debt.”

Dr. Oakari smiled, and Din realized it was the first time he’d seen that expression from them. “There is no debt, Mr. Djarin. Medical care is free for all New Republic citizens.”

“He is not a citizen. Nor am I.” Din pointed out.

“As far as my records go, you both are.” 

“I… _vor entye.”_

“You are welcome.”

***********************

Something wasn’t right. 

Hell, nothing was right, if Cobb was honest with himself. He didn’t want to think too hard about how the only thing separating him from the cold, black vacuum of space was a little layer of transparisteel. He didn’t want to think about how small the room was, how there was no sky or wind or sand beyond the closed door. He didn’t want to think about how far from home he was, how his friends—hell, his _family_ —didn’t know where he was, or have any way of letting him know if they needed his help.

Most of all, he didn’t want to think about what happened that had landed him here in this floating space clinic. He knew he was safe, he supposed. Mando had told him so, and he trusted Mando. Didn’t matter that he’d only known Mando for a few days. They’d fought together, bled together, drank that shitty bitter melon juice together. He was a man of his word.

So, it wasn’t that. There was something…off inside of him. His skin was itchy where the bacta had knitted his wounds into scars, but nothing hurt anymore on the outside. 

It was his thoughts that were all mangled up and confused, he supposed. He’d managed to hide from the worst of it, he knew, by cutting himself free from his body when he knew there wasn’t any escaping Oiler and Whipper’s cruelty. But…this time had been different.

Cobb stared out the window of his room, studying the bright swaths of stars cutting through the blackness. They didn’t look anything like they did planet-side—here they were crisp, clear and almost close enough to touch. 

_You did touch them, Cobb. They sang for you while you soared._

He closed his eyes, trying to recapture the dream. Or was it a memory? He didn’t know. He’d never gone so far before when he’d “escaped” as a kid. Was it…real? Could he do it on purpose?

Cobb closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He let the air pool down into his belly, fill him. He let his thoughts go still, his body relax. A lightness filled his skull, and he _reached_. At first, he didn’t feel anything. Just the cold expanse of space, the hard, artificial decks of the ship surrounding him. Blackness. 

Then, there was a yellow flicker, like the first glow-fly of the season. Then another, and another appeared. They were faint, but there, pinpricks of life around him. 

_Life._

He focused on those dots, encouraged them to grow. They became more pronounced, taking on vague, humanoid shapes. Some were laying still, some were moving about the ship. There was one that wasn’t yellow, but a dull orange-brown color, like spoiled fruit. It wavered unsteadily, like a flame in a strong breeze, and Cobb had a feeling that it wasn’t going to last very much longer.

A lance of pain pierced the back of his skull, breaking his concentration and bringing him back into his body. Yeah. That was new. He’d never seen lights or “felt life” or anything weird like that. He gingerly reached for the spot where the chip was, tracing his fingers across his star-shaped scar. He remembered the feeling of something being _damaged_ the last time those bastards had hit him with the shocker. These hallucinations must be a side effect or something. 

The door slid open, and Mando stepped into the room. His step was surprisingly quiet, especially with all that armor weighing him down. Man was a natural born hunter. 

Cobb felt something in his chest squeeze. He hadn’t been shy about his interest in Mando. Sure, at first his easy flirting had been a way to keep the stranger off-balance, a trick he’d learned when he was younger and much prettier. The more time he’d spent with Mando, though, the more he’d realized he wasn’t just trying to keep him guessing—he really wanted to get to know him. 

_And he came for you, Cobb. Just like you hoped._

“Hey, partner,” Cobb drawled, flashing a smile. “Come to pay me a visit?”

“I wanted to check on you. Dr. Oakari told me that you were awake.”

“That, I am.” Cobb looked around the small room, and shivered. “Next time you talk to them, can you tell them to turn up the heat in here? It’s freezing.”

Mando looked around the room, and found a spare blanket in one of the cabinets. He brought it over to Cobb. 

“Here. This should help until then.” He shook out the white blanket, and draped it over Cobb’s shoulders.

“What service! You think they’ve got some spotchka hidden in one of those cabinets, too?”

“I wish.”

Huh. That…that was a bit heavier of a tone than Cobb had been expecting. He was joking—well, mostly, joking. So why did Mando sound like he was on the edge being angry?

“Everything all right there, friend?” Cobb asked. Suddenly, he remembered Mando’s first bedside visit, and his face heated. “Hey, look. I’m sorry if I got a little…personal back there. I was still a bit out of sorts an—”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Cobb. Nothing at all.”

“Not even for getting snot on your shiny armor?”

That made Mando pause, and Cobb thought he heard a weak, strained chuckle.

“I think beskar can withstand a little mucus.” 

Cobb smiled, glad he was able to break through whatever was bothering Mando. 

“Did the doc tell you how much longer I gotta stay in this cell?” Cobb asked. “I know you’re used to floating in a durasteel can out in space, but I am itching to get my feet back on solid ground.”

“They…they’re coming to talk to you in a minute.” Mando’s tone fell again, his head turning away from Cobb.

Suspicion gnawed at his belly. “Did…did the doctor tell you something already?”

Mando was silent for a long moment. Too long. The gnawing grew, taking whole bites out of Cobb’s fragile optimism. 

“You’re starting to scare me, Mando. What did they say?”

Mando finally came over to Cobb’s bedside. This time, he pulled the waiting chair up close. Slowly, he offered his hand to Cobb, palm up. Cobb placed his hand in Mando’s. Normally, this small gesture would’ve filled him with warmth, but right now, all it did was increase the icy dread spreading though his body.

“My oath to you was false, Cobb Vanth.”

“What’d you mean, false?”

“I spoke before I had all the information.”

“What oath? I don’t remember you making any oath.”

“I promised you that you were safe.”

The ice engulfed Cobb’s heart. He began to shake. “What do you mean?”

“The damage done to you…the chip…”

Cobb blinked, trying hard to focus through the panic rising in him.

“Cobb…they can’t take it out.”

A strange, giddy relief coursed through Cobb, and he gave a strained laugh. “Well shit, friend, I never really expected them to! That thing’s been in me as long as I’ve been able to piss standing up. Something like that’s a part of you, whether you like it or not.” Cobb squeezed Mando’s hand. “I’m touched by your concern, though.”

“There’s more.”

“Like what more?”

The door slid open, and the Zabrack doctor—Dr. Oakari, Mando had called them—came gliding in with a datapad in hand. Their features were carefully composed into an expression that Cobb knew all too well. He’d seen it when he’d worked in the refinery, from foremen who had to give difficult orders that usually ended with someone coming out of the drills maimed, or not at all.

“Do you want me to stay, or do you want to talk to the doctor alone?” Mando asked quietly.

Cobb swallowed hard, and held tighter to Mando’s hand. “Stick around, will ya? I have a feeling that beskar’s gonna get another coat of snot on it.”

“It can take it.” He placed his second hand on Cobb’s enveloping him in leather and durasteel. “And so can you. I’m here.”

Cobb nodded. He already felt lightheaded as he turned to the doctor.

“So, doc. What’s the news?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS FOR THE ANXIOUS:
> 
> Yes. There will be a happy ending. Cobb will be OK. I promise.


	9. {Boba * Fennec} The Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Did you come here to nag me about my defense strategies, or did you come here to talk, cyar’ika?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Cakes (GuenVanHelsing) for betaing this chapter!
> 
> Note: No smut, though gets a tad racy in the middle. PG-13.

It was the middle of the night, and Boba was still awake. He stared at the patterns painted on his bedroom ceiling, his gaze tracing over the thin copper whirls for the eighty-seventh time. Eighty-eighth. Eighty-ninth…kriff. 

It wasn’t working. He’d tried breathing exercises, a Kaminoan meditation, and now was down to counting patterns on the ceiling. Nothing was helping put him to sleep.

Every time he started to drift off, he saw Fennec’s disdain in his mind’s eye. Never, in the time they’d been together, had she looked at him like that. Not when he’d told her what he was, what he'd done in his past life. She’d simply shrugged and said, “everyone’s got history.”

This had nothing to do with history, though, and everything to do with the future. Theirs and this planet’s. Boba would be lying if he said he’d never thought of taking his operation all the way—build up from kingpin to actual legitimate operatiom. The reality of it, though…

_“It’s time we rise above being killers and crimelords. It’s time we become real agents of change.”_

Fennec wasn’t just talking about liberating a few slave camps, though. She was talking about planet-wide revolution. With the Empire gone, there was little in the way of government here, just corporate militias and ordinary citizens who tried to protect themselves as best they could.

Then, of course, there was him. The King of Tatooine. The title had been Fennec’s idea. He’d been content to rest on the reputation of his own name within these circles: Boba Fett, the man so tough even a Sarlacc couldn’t kill him.

_“You need a title,”_ Fennec had pointed out, _“not a bedtime story.”_

Boba sighed. He hated knowing that she was angry with him.

He hated even more that he knew that she had reason to be.

With a grumble, he got out of bed. It had felt too big without her here anyway. They often slept apart—due to their different schedules and mutual need for autonomy—but knowing that she was avoiding him _hurt_ , stupidly enough. 

He pulled on his robe, then strapped on his hip holster with blaster. After pulling on his boots, he undid the locks on his door, disabled the trap, and made his way down the hall to Fennec’s suite.

Neither of them had wanted Jabba’s old quarters. The stench of Hutt slime and spice would take years to fully fade. Boba had chosen instead to settle into Bib Fortuna’s opulent suite in the underground network, enjoying the cool, closed-in feeling. He was used to living in enclosed spaces, between his youth on Kamino and his years aboard _Slave I_.

Fennec, however, had opted for a more unconventional living arrangement. She didn’t like feeling trapped, she said. She needed natural light and fresh air, even if it meant living in one of the hottest spot in the palace—the communications tower.

It took Boba a full ten minutes to make his way up the tall spiral staircase, and by the time he reached the top his knees were aching. He took a moment to compose himself before knocking on Fennec’s door.

“Come in, Boba.”

_Come in?_ He slid inside, and shut the door behind him.

“Feeling brave tonight, Fennec?” Boba asked, flicking the unfasted locks at her door. “Not coming to the door yourself? No locks?”

Fennec wasn’t in bed. She was sitting at her large desk, her lovely face illuminated only by the glow of her datapads and a small, stained glass lamp.

“I knew you’d be coming,” she said evenly, not looking up from her datapads. “And I knew I didn’t want to bother getting up to get the door.”

Boba scowled. “And if it wasn’t me? You’re practically inviting trouble by leaving yourself open like this.”

Fennec looked up from her datapad to spare him a withering look. She reached out to lift up the blaster that was resting on her desk, right beside her black, stone teapot.

“Did you come here to nag me about my defense strategies, or did you come here to talk, _cyar’ika_?”

Boba inwardly winced. When he used the term, it was an endearment. When she used it, it was a reproach. This was not going as he’d hoped. He sighed, and locking the door behind him, approached Fennec’s desk.

“If I wanted to nag you, I would’ve waited until you’d come down out of your tower yourself.” He raised a rueful eyebrow at her. “Save myself the long climb.”

Luckily, she gave him a little half-smile, and motioned him to sit beside her. By the time Boba had dragged over a cushioned chair, she had a cup of tea waiting for him on the edge of her desk. He brought it to his lips, and the liquid inside was lukewarm. She’d been here for a while, then.

“Any word from Din?” he asked.

Fennec shook her head. “Not yet. I would’ve commed you if I’d heard.”

“Glad to know you’re not so mad that you’d wouldn’t tell me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know I’m not that petty.”

“I do. I also know I made you angry today, though, and for that I am sorry.”

The tightness in her features softened a bit, though not completely. Talk was cheap with Fennec.

He looked down at the datapads on her desk. He couldn’t decipher them at this distance. Lists of names and dates?

“Jabba’s slave manifests,” Fennec answered his unspoken question. “For the past forty years.”

Boba’s gut clenched as he watched Fennec scroll through the list. There were so many of them. Too many.

“I’m trying to find Cobb,” she explained. “If I can figure out when he was chipped, I can maybe find more information on the type of hardware they used, how to fix it.”

“Don’t you think those nice New Republic doctors have taken care of all that by now?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I believe that about as much as you do.”

Boba sighed, pushing down his bitterness. “Contingencies are good, regardless. Have you found anything.”

“No. I’ve searched for his name, different spellings, nothing. No one else with the surname ‘Vanth’ in the last sixty years, either.”

“Huh.” Boba thought. “Maybe it’s in a different language. My father told me that our clan name, Fett, was a translation from _vhett_.”

“What does it mean.”

“Farmer.”

Fennec giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just imagining you in farmer’s coveralls with a big sunhat on.”

“Farming is a very honorable profession!”

“And you could grow me some very honorable potatoes, I bet!”

Fennec laughed again, the sound so bright and girlish that it made her look like a completely different woman. There, in that dazzling smile, Boba could see the mirage of the person Fennec should have been—a _kwee-kunee_ , draped in silks and jewels. She should be surrounded by the greatest and wittiest minds in the universe, influencing the course of galactic politics.

Instead, she was garrisoned in a crimelord’s fortress, negotiating smuggler’s contracts and poring over slave manifests. The closest she had for educated conversation was him, who had spent more of his childhood in a prison than in a school. No wonder she was aching to do more.

“Hey,” Fennec’s brow suddenly creased in concern. “Have I…”

“ _Chut chut_ ,” he said gruffly, brushing aside his insecurity. The past was past, as Fennec herself would be first to say. He forced a smile, which honestly, was not too hard to do for her. “I would grow you the most honorable potatoes in all the Outer Rim, _cyar’ika_.”

Fennec’s smile softened, a rare tenderness in her eyes. She placed her palm on Boba’s cheek, her finger lacing easily between his scars. That’s how he knew she truly loved him. She never flinched from him, no matter how raw or damaged he was.

“I don’t know a thing about farming, though,” Boba said. “What I do know how to do is fight. If it’s truly in your heart to liberate this planet, Fennec, then I will do everything I can to do so.”

Her smile shifted slightly, her gaze measuring. “Only if this is something you believe in, Boba. You can’t do this for me, out of a sense of honor or love. This has to be your fight, too.”

Boba carefully removed her hand from his cheek, and held it cupped in his. “I’ll fight, Fennec, not for you, but for all my clone brothers, who were robbed of any agency by design, and forced into horror and death. For my father, who was captured and enslaved for years. And, yes, for Vanth, probably the best man I’ve ever known.”

Fennec placed her second hand over Boba’s, and the light from the glass lamp shone in her eyes like fire.

“For Cobb Vanth,” she said solemnly. “For all of them.”

“For all of them.” Boba nodded. “We will make Tatooine free. _Oya Tatooine!_ ” He meant it from the depths of his heart, the rallying cry meant for a home he’d never known, now for a home of his own creation. There was power in the words, and he swore he heard the desert wind howl in support outside of Fennec’s window.

Fennec felt it, too. Her smile curled up at one corner, her breath hitching. “Say it again, my king.”

Boba’s adrenaline surged. He stood, and with his eyes locked on hers, thumped his chest and growled out, “ _Oya Tatooine_!”

It was both an oath and a call to arms, spoken in the tongue of his father and bolstered by the souls of his ancestors. Boba wasn’t a Mandalorian by creed or by blood—he was one by _spirit_ , which to him, was more powerful than both combined. It was time he answered a call to something beyond survival.

“ _Oya Tatooine_ ,” Fennec whispered in reply, rising from her seat. Her robe draped open in the front, revealing the smooth swath of pale skin from her neck to her sternum. Boba could feel the heat radiating off of her, read her desire in the curl of her shoulders, the flush in her cheeks. She slid an arm over his shoulder, rubbed her thigh against his in invitation.

Boba was more than happy to accept. He grabbed her around her waist, and slammed his lips against hers in a searing kiss. She melted into him, enveloping him in her long arms as she kissed him just as heatedly. He slid his hands down to cradle her firm ass, and he felt the muscles tighten as she gave a little jump, wrapping her legs around his hips.

He carried her to her bed as she nipped and licked at his neck, her tongue tracing up the line of his scar.

“ _Ner riduur_ ,” Boba purred, kissing her once more before dropping her down on the mattress. Her robe fell open just enough for him to see the top of her abdominal cybernetic implant, the smooth black contrasting so beautifully with her pale skin.

Never, in his wildest dreams, had he dared think that he would be so lucky as to find someone like Fennec. Strong, sharp, and lovely as polished beskar, and infinitely more precious. She reached up to him, dark eyes reflecting back only trust and love, a gift he had earned with his loyalty and care.

With her at his side, he could do anything.

Even liberate a planet.

************

A brisk, yet cautious knock at her suite’s door woke Fennec out of her deep sleep. She untangled herself from Boba’ limbs and pulled on her discarded robe, smoothing down her hair and grabbing her blaster off her desk.

“Yes?” she called out.

“M’lady Shand? Is everything all right?”

Fennec relaxed. It was just her handmai—no, _assistant_ —Trella. It must be late morning, then, if Trella was knocking. Fennec usually summoned her shortly after sunrise to bring her breakfast and help her get ready for the day.

Fennec slid her blaster into the belt of her robe and unlocked the door. As she opened it, she was greeted by the lovely, green face of the Twi’lek dancer Fennec had liberated when they’d taken the palace. Fennec had found the poor woman hiding in the palace two days later, and she had admitted tearfully that she had nowhere else to go. Fennec had offered her a paying job, a better room in the palace, and the promise that Trella would never have to do _anything_ unless she wanted to.

“I’m fine. I had a late night,” Fennec admitted. She took the tray that Trella was holding and thanked her with a nod.

“Shall I come in and help with your hair? I’ve been curious to try the Alderaanian knotwork I saw on the holovid last week.”

Fennec smiled. She indulged Trella’s fascination with her hair because it was as soothing to her as it was amusing to Trella. A small piece of Fennec’s past life that she had thought she’d lost forever.

“No, not today. I have some things I need to finish up here before I come down for the day.”

“Ah, all right,” Trella said, her smile sliding into a pout.

Fennec sighed. “I have an important job for you in the meantime. I need you to go into Mos Eisley. There’s a Bothan silk merchant who will be making a stop here on his way to the Core. Convince him to show you his wares. I need a bolt of silk the color of the first sunrise and one the color of the dual sunset. Get a bolt for yourself in whatever color you want. I’ll have the credits wired to your account.”

Trella’s disappointment shifted into a sly smile. "Should I bargain for a discount?”

Fennec smiled back, "only if you're in the mood."

Bib Fortuna had been a fool for many reasons, one of which is that his lust had blinded him to Trella's true skillset--she was a talented grifter, a cunning negotiator, and an excellent spy. 

As she glided away, Fennec shut the door and locked it again.

“Coming back to bed, _m’lady_?” Boba called to her. She could hear the smirk in his voice.

Fennec turned to him with an exaggerated sigh. “I told her not to call me that, but she insists.”

“Oh come on. You know you enjoy it.”

_“M’lady. Your highness. Your majesty. Titles can be powerful decoys. Do not flinch when addressed as the Queen. You are her, and she is you. Your composure is her armor.”_

Fennec shrugged, not looking at Boba as she set the tray down on her desk. She turned on the electric kettle to heat up water for a fresh pot of tea. “It’s just how she shows respect. Nothing more.”

Fennec’s hands moved easily over her tea station—selecting a golden earthenware pot from her collection, measuring out the dried leaves and Nabooian blossoms, crushing the nectar crystals in her mortar to sweeten it when finished. Just how she had been taught.

_“Each and every one of you must know not only how to prepare the Queen’s cha, but how to drink it as well. It would be too much of a tell if her majesty took her tea differently from day to day. So, no matter your preference, girls, you will learn to drink it as she does.”_

Fennec added the hot water to the pot. While she waited for it to steep, she hummed the song all the handmaidens had been taught to properly time the brew. These were the things she carried with her from her homeworld—songs and rituals, memories and skills. They couldn’t be stolen from her, or forced to be left behind. They were a part of her, and no tragedy nor treachery could take that away.

By the time the tea was finished, Boba was up and in his robe, joining her back at her desk. He picked up one of her datapads and turned it on, reading through the endless list of names.

“How many slaves are currently on Tatooine?” he asked.

“I’m still gathering an exact number. I’m waiting on some intel on smaller mining companies and privately-owned slaves, but the number is somewhere close to forty thousand, planetwide.”

“Forty thousand? That’s almost a quarter of the planet’s population!”

“I know.” Fennec said, taking a sip from her tea. “It’s going to take planning. We aren’t going to be able to just brute force this. If other slave-holding companies start getting wind of uprisings they may start ‘purging’ or taking them off world before we can help them all.”

"We need to find a way to connect with the people on the inside, as well. They're not going to trust us if we just sweep in with guns blazing. This is their liberation, they need to be a part of this."

Boba took a delicate sip of the tea, his strong brow furrowed as he read through the data. Her heart fluttered unexpectedly. There was just something exhilarating about knowing that she, out of any other person in the galaxy, got to see Boba like this. She admired him when he embodied his legend, when he hunted with fire and graceful ferocity. However, she loved him like this most—unarmored, unmasked, completely at ease in her presence. Like this, he was all hers.

A soft chime from her comm pulled her from her musings. She recognized the number immediately.

“It’s Din,” she told Boba, stomach knotting nervously.

Boba nodded and stepped out of the comm’s camera range. He was trying to look calm, but she could read the creasing in his features.

She took a deep breath, and answered.

“Mando,” she greeted Din, “what news?”

Mando was silent for so long a moment that Fennec thought the comm had frozen. Then, when she saw the subtle shift of his breathing, a wave of cold washed through her body. Had Cobb not made it? She reached a hand behind her blindly, and Boba caught it, squeezing tightly.

“Cobb is alive. He’s healed.”

Life surged back into Fennec, and she heard Boba let out a breath that sounded like a prayer.

“That’s good, right?” Fennec asked.

“There’s…more.” Din said, his words heavy with exhaustion.

By the time Din was done explaining Cobb’s condition, Fennec’s heart was in her throat.

“A year?” She breathed. 

“Yes.”

Boba’s fingers were squeezing her so tightly they almost hurt, but she didn’t dare let go. He was the only thing keeping her anchored.

_How can you expect to liberate a whole kriffing planet if you can’t even save one friend?_

“That’s only if the chip stays in through, yeah?” Boba said from over her shoulder, stepping into camera range.

If Din was surprised to see Boba there, he didn’t mention it.

“Correct. Our options for removal are limited. We can wait and see if the New Republic can come up with someone themselves, or we can try to find someone on our own. If we do that, we risk Cobb’s safety.”

“If we don’t, we risk his life,” Boba said. “I’ve never been one for waiting around. I don’t think you are, either.”

“No,” Din agreed, “but it’s not up to me. It’s up to Vanth.”

“Where is he?” Fennec asked.

“Doctor’s setting him up with some supplies and going over instructions again. He’ll be on board ship soon.”

“Then where?”

“I…I don’t know. I was hoping one of you might have a lead to follow.”

Fennec thought. She didn’t know anyone qualified to perform such a delicate medical procedure…but she knew someone who would.

“I might,” Fennec said, “on Takodana.”

She heard the chirps and beeps of Din bringing up his galaxy map.

“This little one in the mid-rim? Looks like it’s mostly just forests. No major civilizations.”

“There’s civilization enough. I’ll send you the coordinates you need.”

“What am I looking for?”

“Maz Kanata.”

“Where’s that?”

“Not a where, a who. She's a pirate queen, mostly deals with smugglers, but she's fine with bounty hunters as long as they're off the clock. She's an information broker, so if you need something or someone, she’s the one who can point you in the right direction.”

Din sighed. “It’s not much, but it’s a start, at least.”

“Tell her the Lost Handmaiden sent you.”

That made Din stop short, and he cocked his head in an unspoken question. Fennec just raised an eyebrow in challenge. He didn’t say anything, only nodded.

“Thank you.” He turned his head, looking off camera. “I should go. Vanth’s on his way.”

A flutter tickled her chest. “Do you think he’s in a place to speak with us?”

Boba squeezed her hand, and pulled away. He wasn’t ready to talk to Cobb. Not yet. Face to face, he’d said. He had to explain who he was in person.

“Honestly, no,” Din said carefully. “He’s putting on a brave face, but it’s not going to last long.”

“Understood. Keep us posted, and give him our…”

_Give him what? Our best? Our sympathy? Our love?_

“I will,” Din said. He went to turn off the comm.

“Din,” Boba called, stepped back into view. “ _Me'vaar ti gar_?”

“ _Naas_ ,” Din replied quickly. Fennec could read the subtle tilt of Din’s helmet, signaling he was avoiding Boba’s gaze.

Boba sighed with a hint of resignation, and nodded. “ _Jate'kara, vod'ika._ ”

“ _Lek, ori'vod_.” Din nodded in return, and signed off.

Now _that_ she understood. _Vod'ika, ori'vod._ Little brother, big brother. Those long nights on board _Slave I_ , both on the way to and returning from Moff Gideon’s cruiser, she heard things coming from Boba’s quarters she knew hadn’t been meant for her ears. Nothing salacious—Din was far too lost for that. But there were Mandalorian rituals of mourning, Boba had explained, ways for members of a family to share grief and ease combat shock. Boba was the closest Din had to family, now, and he had done these services for Din, sharing the burden of his pain so that it was easier for him to bear. He still was.

As the comm went dark, Boba sighed deeply, running a hand over his mouth.

“You’re a good _ori’vod_ ,” Fennec reassured him.

His attention swung to her, a small smile on his full lips. He loved it when she spoke his father-tongue, even if she knew her pronunciation was abysmal.

“I just hope Din is ready to be one, too,” Boba said. “Vanth’s going to need him.”

“I think he’ll do fine. He cares for him more than he realizes.” She hadn’t needed to see Din’s face to feel the protectiveness he felt for the Marshal. Maybe something more.

Boba gave a low chuckle, and slid an arm around Fennec’s waist to pull her close against him.

“I hope you’re right, _cyar'ika_.”

“When it comes to things like this, I’m always right.”


	10. {Din * Cobb} The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"As long as you’re the one driving, I’m along for the ride.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Cakes (GuenVanHelsing) for betaing this chapter!
> 
> Warnings for processing trauma, including self-hate speak.

As Din signed off the comm, he sagged back in his seat. The enormity of Cobb’s plight weighed physically upon him, a smothering fear that threatened to choke him.

Din was no stranger to burdens. He’d shared the load of protecting and providing for the Covert for most of his adult life. He’d spent the last year protecting and providing for the kid. Both those things, though, challenging as they were, had hopeful outcomes. They served the future.

This though… one year. Maybe less if things went terribly wrong.

Cobb had taken the diagnosis with the calmness of a man familiar with grim news. He’d asked Dr. Oakari numerous questions about his options, one of which had included staying on the frigate until the doctor could find someone to perform the procedure. Cobb had shot that idea down immediately, which Din understood. He didn’t want to be here a second longer than he had to be, either.

Through the transparasteel window, Din watched Cobb shake hands with Dr. Oakari, a white satchel slung over his shoulder. The doctor had set Cobb up with plenty of supplies, then. Din also noticed that Cobb was wearing a long, brown coat over the clothes he’d been brought in. That was nice of them. Cobb literally had nothing but the clothes on his back now. 

Well, not entirely true. He had Din.

Din left the cockpit to greet Cobb at the bottom of the ramp. Cobb was eyeing the Auzituck with a mix of trepidation of excitement. 

“This your ride?” Cobb asked. 

“For now.” Din tried to ignore the knot in his chest. The _Razor Crest_ had been his home for years. This Auzituck didn’t even have a name.

“Sure is small,” Cobb mused. He blanched. “I don’t mean that in a disrespectful way. I mean in a--”

“She’s safe,” Din said calmly, trying to reassure Cobb without sounding like he was.

Cobb nodded absently, studying the ship’s hull. He even reached up to test it, as if patting an animal’s flank. 

“First time in a gunship?” Din asked.

“First time in any ship, not counting the one we’re on now.” Cobb put on a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “First time for everything, I guess.”

Din nodded, and motioned inside. “Come on. I’ll give you a tour before we take off.”

It was as much to stall as to help familiarize Cobb with the layout. Cobb had been so quick to leave once he’d been cleared that they hadn’t had a chance to discuss what came next. 

Din finished the tour in the cockpit, and Cobb gave a low whistle. “That’s quite the array, there.” He ran his fingers lightly over the control bank.

“If you want to take a seat, we can take off.” Din nodded towards the gunner’s seat on the left. “If you’re ready. Take all the time you need.”

Cobb made a dismissive sound, and plopped down in the seat with forced casualness. “I’ve been ready to leave this floating prison since I woke up.”

Din opened his mouth, and closed it again without saying anything. _You don’t have to pretend to be OK, Cobb._ If this was what Cobb needed to get through right now, Din wouldn’t take that from him. The crash would come. Din didn’t need to hurry it along. 

He sat down at the controls, and prepped the ship for take-off. He pretended to ignore the sudden tightness of Cobb’s posture, the way he was absently worrying his thumb over his lip. 

“Flip that switch for me, will you?” Din asked. He absolutely could have reached it himself. 

Cobb looked surprised, and pointed to the bank. “This one right here?”

“Yeah. Then turn the dial next to it until it reaches seven.”

Cobb complied hesitantly. “What’d I do?”

“Set the ejector seat.”

Cobb looked at him with dull horror. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Cobb stared at him, and for a second, Din regretted the attempt at levity. Then, Cobb’s frown broke into a grin, and he gave a small chuckle. 

“Mando the comedian,” he drawled. There was the hint of sparkle in his tired eyes, and Din felt his heart expand so much it hurt. 

“Din.”

“Din what?”

“Din the comedian.” Din swallowed hard. “Not Mando.”

“Din,” Cobb weighed the word on his tongue, rolling it around his mouth like a sweet. “I like that. Suits you.”

Din’s cheeks heated, warmth pooling in his belly. 

“Makes sense. Bet you get kinda sick of everyone calling you ‘Mando’.” Cobb rubbed his stubbled jaw.

He did. The only reason he allowed it was to keep his real name safe. “I’m used to it.”

“No, really, it’s pretty rude, now that I think on it. There’s gotta be thousands of Mandalorians out there. But there’s only one Din, isn’t there?”

“I…” Din’s throat was too tight to speak. 

“So what did I set up on this ship?” Cobb asked quickly, pointed back to the controls.

“The heater.” Din’s words finally came. “I thought you might be cold in here, since you’re used to Tatooine’s heat.”

“You are not wrong there.” Cobb sighed, pulling the coat closer around him. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, if you’re ready to go.”

Din nodded, grateful for the distraction. He fired up the engines, and maneuvered the Auzituck out of the docking bay and into the expanse of space.

“Wow,” Cobb breathed, taking in the view. “It’s so… open.”

“It is,” Din said, unable to keep the quiet awe out of his voice. “The entire galaxy is at your fingertips.”

Cobb’s breath sucked in. “I’ve spent my whole life on the same dusty little ball. Now that I’m finally out here…”

“You want to go home?” Din asked, keeping his words even, free from judgement. He wouldn’t blame Cobb one bit, after his ordeal, if he wanted to be back with his own people, in his own home. 

“No.” Cobb cleared his throat. “I… I’m not really…”

_Not ready to face them yet._

“Where would you like to go? Anywhere you want,” Din offered.

“That’s the kick, isn’t it? I have no idea.”

Din thought of the coordinates that Fennec had given him. He hadn’t had a chance to bring them up to Cobb yet. In fact, they hadn’t had a chance to discuss yet what Cobb wanted to do at all.

“One thing’s for sure,” Cobb continued, “I’d really love to get some solid ground under my feet. I know you’re used to being out here, but, it’s still a bit unsettling.”

Din nodded, and brought up his system map. There were options. They were still in orbit around D’Qar, which didn’t have much but forests, rivers, and ruins—all new things for someone born and raised on a desert planet. No, Cobb needed something a bit more familiar right now. Naboo? No, too many people… aha.

“I think I know a place,” Din said. “Dry, out of the way, no cities.”

“That sounds ‘bout perfect right now. Let’s head there.”

Din punched in the calculations for the jump to hyperspace. “It’s not far, should only take us two hours or so.” 

He pushed forward the hyperdrive lever, and the stars streaked, then swirled around them. Cobb cried out, and Din turned in alarm. Cobb had one hand shielding his eyes, the other touching the back of his neck. A pained grimace tightened his face.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you what would happen,” Din said. He mentally kicked himself.

Cobb waved him off, though he didn’t change his tense pose. “Headache comin’ on something fierce. Something about the stars moving like that.”

“Do you want to lay down? There’s a bunk for you in the hold.”

“Yeah, I think I might.” Cobb got to his feet, holding the seat for support. He kept his hand in contact with a solid surface as he slowly made his way out of the cockpit. As soon as he’d cleared the room, Din followed him, grabbing the bag of medical supplies Dr. Oakari had sent with them.

Cobb set himself on the bunk with a groan, still shielding his eyes. “You mind turning the lights down a bit?”

Din hit the dimmer, and the sharp light shifted into a warm, amber glow. It highlighted the soft browns of the wroshyr wood panels lining the ship’s hold. It didn’t feel like they were in a gunship, but in a snug, windowless cabin.

“Thanks, friend,” Cobb sighed, dropping his hand. He tucked it in underneath his armpit, pulling the coat tighter again. Curled up on the bunk, he seemed shrunken, pain robbing him of his larger-than-life aura. Din picked up the grey blanket he’d folded at the foot of the cot, and draped it over Cobb. 

Cobb gave him a small smile, then closed his eyes with a ragged sigh. “I think I’m going to take a little rest, if you don’t mind.”

“Would you like me to… stay again?” Din felt strangely hesitant. 

Cobb opened his eyes, and in the soft light his pupils were huge. Din wanted to shift his visor's vision to the warmer spectrum so he could fully know the color of Cobb’s irises. With the cool filter, he could only guess at light brown, maybe hazel. He could still read the turbulence there, though, the thin layer of artificial calm holding back the storm of anger and grief that would come raging out eventually.

“Nah, I’m fine, Din,” Cobb said. “Just a little headache. Wake me up when we get to wherever it is we’re going.”

“Crait.”

“Crait, sure. As long as you’re the one driving, I’m along for the ride.” Cobb patted the back of Din’s glove with a tired sort of sloppiness, then tucked his hand back in around his body and closed his eyes.

Din got up, feeling both a bit rejected and a bit relieved. His nerves were pretty raw, and he felt almost as exhausted as Cobb looked. He needed to eat more than the pouch of protein paste he’d slurped down while waiting for Cobb to board the ship. It’d been the only nourishment he’d had since he’d left Tatooine. 

The ship’s tiny galley was in the hold, too, but it had all the basics they’d need to keep fed, hydrated, and clean. While his ration pack rehydrated, Din found a steel cup in the cabinet and filled it with water. He figured that he could at least leave out something for Cobb to drink when he awoke, maybe take his medicine. What had the doctor said? Bacta injection at the site every three days, painkillers every twelve hours. 

As he headed back to Cobb to leave the cup, he tried to remember if Cobb had taken the painkiller on the frigate. Had it been twelve hours since the last dose? He needed to ask Cobb, then start keeping track of these things, too. Cobb didn’t seem to be in much shape to be—

He stopped short when he saw Cobb, almost dropping the cup in the process.

Cobb was hovering six inches above the cot in his sleep.

_Dank Farrik, not this again._

**********************

Cobb didn’t float this time. He raced, slamming through the swirls of hyperspace like a bolt through a blaster. He could feel the galaxy around him again, but it was too much, too fast.

_Slow down!_ his entire being cried. He threw his hands up to cover his face—

And he stopped. 

If he had breath in this place, he’d be breathing hard. The closest he got was a dull pulsing, like a machine light signaling standby. He gingerly lowered his hands, looking around cautiously. 

He didn’t recognize where he was. Not that he had a whole lot of experience hurtling through space and time, but the last couple of times he’d seen Tatooine, he’d seen the frigate, but now…he was just floating out in the void. There was a system in the distance, close enough that if Cobb lifted his hand in front of the closest planet, the illusion made it look like it fit in the palm of his hand.

There was a cautious prodding at the fore of his mind, a wave of embarrassment sliding over him. It didn’t stick, which told him it wasn’t his feeling. He wasn’t alone.

“Hey, um, it’s OK.” He didn’t get a reply. He tried a different tact. Concentrating, he imagined soothing one of the dewbacks back home, projecting reassurance and calm.

That did the trick. He was welcomed with a warm ripple of relief. Cobb smiled. 

_Who are you?_ Cobb asked, projecting curiosity.

This time, his own memories flooded his mind: a mourning mother’s kiss on his young forehead. The cries of freedom from liberated people. An unexpected smile from a beautiful warrior. The tears of gratitude from a scarred man. A pledge of trust from an armored hunter.

_Kindness. Love._ Enough to make the rims of Cobb’s eyes prickle.

_Why do you keep bringing me here? Has it always been you?_

Confusion—a tightness in his forehead. Then, a light tugging at his hands, like one of the town children pulling him forward to see something. Cobb let himself be drawn forward, much more gently this time, towards the planetary system.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t think. He never did, when he was here. He just floated, taking in the peace, the silence. Eventually, what could’ve been years or minutes later, his guide stopped him on the edge of the system. Now that he was closer, he could appreciate the banded colors and swirling textures of the planets and moons. They looked like the colorful orbs that the town glassblower would make for the kids with her leftover bits. Cobb wondered briefly if he could flick one with his fingers, send it spinning into the black.

His hand lifted of its own accord, and for a second, Cobb was sure that’s exactly what his mysterious guide was going to have him do. Instead, his four fingers folded down, and he found himself pointing at a small, green planet flanked by two small moons.

A sense of invitation, of urgency. _Come find me. Time is running out._

Cobb awoke with a start. His entire side ached, and he felt vaguely disoriented. Like that time he’d gotten so drunk that he’d fallen out of his bed and woke up when he hit the floor. He was still on the cot, though, still wrapped in his blanket. His setting didn’t give him any comfort, though. It was too cold, too stark, even with the natural-looking paneling and golden light. 

_How many more times are you gonna wake up in a strange place, not knowing what’s gonna happen to you next?_

He was alone. He could tell by the stillness in the air, even under the steady hum of the ship’s engines. Mando was probably in the cockpit. Which was just fine. 

Cobb pulled the blanket up over his head. Finally, he had the luxury to think, figure out a plan. If there was anything to plan, really. Dr. Oakari had been pretty straightforward with their diagnosis—he had one year, give or take, if Cobb didn’t get the chip deactivated. The real kick in the teeth being that it was such a delicate procedure, that it might kill him to even attempt it. Hell, him _and_ the surgeon. Had to be a sentient being, too, a med droid wasn’t good enough for this. 

Difficult choices had always been a part of his life: speak up or let someone else take the lash. Keep your head down and stay safe, or volunteer in hopes of earning a little more trust, a little more power. Walk away or stay and fight. He’d almost always taken the harder path, the bigger reward. This though…Maker, how do you gamble with your life when you’re the only thing on the line? Just one more year guaranteed, or risk it all for a chance to die an old man in your bed?

_What’s the point, you’re going to die alone either way._

He curled up tighter, gritting his teeth. That wasn’t his voice. That was Oiler’s voice, slithering in his head and churning in his gut. Cobb had spent years drowning out that voice, replacing it with others until he could find his own. He’d known he’d never be completely free of it… he’d just never expected to hear it again in the flesh.

_“You’re Diamond Star property, always have been, always will be.”_

Cobb cringed as if physically hit. No. He knew it was a lie. He wasn’t property. He was his own man.

_Is that what that brand on your back says? The chip in your head that’s slowly killing you?_

He sucked in a deep breath, and let it out in a violent hiss. He did it again, and again. He had to think of something, someone… someone good. His friends in Mos Pelgo—

_The people who don’t know where you are? Who were depending on you for supplies and protection? What are they going to say when they find out their precious Marshal can’t even protect himself?_

The dark thoughts were swirling faster and faster, pressing in harder. He struggled to anchor himself, but every time he thought he caught a grip, some fresh horror would bat it away.

Mando. He had to find Mando. He was only a few feet away. If he could just see him, feel that armor, feel safe again…

_What would your hero Mando say if he really knew you? Saw your truth written in the scars on your back? Not just what’s been done to you but what you’ve allowed to be done. You’re just damaged goods, Cobb Vanth. Or should I say…Worrt?_

Cobb cried out in fury, lashing out blindly with both fists as if he could _push_ the thoughts away—

From under the blanket, he heard the clatter of metal hitting plastasteel. Surprised, he pulled the blanket down to see what he’d hit. His hands hadn’t connected with anything, had they? 

Across the hold from him, there was a metal cup on the floor. It was still rolling side to side in the puddle of its spilled contents. Water? Dang farrik, that was a fuck of a lot to spill! He sat up on the cot. He had to find a rag or something to try to save as much of the precious water as he could. It was still good to drink. 

A lance of pain shot through his skull from the base and up through his forehead. He cried out, grabbing his head with both hands. 

“Hey, are you all right?” Mando’s voice floated on the edge of Cobb’s haze of pain.

Cobb wanted to make some quip, play it off, but when he opened his mouth the stabbing just worsened. All he managed was a strained whimper.

“Let me get your medicine,” Mando said. 

Cobb could only focus on breathing, using the pressure of his hands to try to keep his head from breaking open. It felt like an eternity before he felt Mando beside him, his armored knees pressing against Cobb’s as he sat down on the cot opposite his. 

“Can you take the pills yourself?” Mando asked. 

Cobb tried to answer, removing the hand from his forehead, but a fresh spear of pain made him wince anew. Maker, this _hurt_!

“It’s OK. Give me a moment.” Mando’s voice was soothing, low, and Cobb latched onto it with every ounce of strength he had left. He thought he heard the rustle of plastic, the sigh of fabric, the clink of metal.

“Open your mouth,” Mando prompted. 

Cobb complied. A second later, he felt bare fingers brushing his lips, two pills being placed carefully in his mouth. The medicine started to dissolve immediately, a strange, fizzing saltiness coating his tongue.

“Here, drink.” 

The rim of a cup touched Cobb’s bottom lip, followed by a hand tilting his chin up to more easily pour the liquid in. The medicine was washed away, replaced by a cool, clean flavor unlike any Cobb had tasted. 

“There you go. It should start working in a few minutes.” Mando said. 

“More,” Cobb managed. “More drink.”

The cup returned to his mouth, and Cobb drank greedily. It washed through him, dulling the headache and soothing the burning in his heart. It tasted like…like how Mando’s armor looked, brilliant and cold and strong. He felt some of it escaping the sides of his mouth, but he didn’t care. He had to get as much of it into him as he could before it was taken away.

“Hey, easy,” Mando said. “There’s plenty more.”

“What is it?” Cobb asked. The medicine must be working. He was regaining the ability to think and speak again.

“Water.”

Cobb scoffed. “Well, yeah, but what did you put in it?”

“Nothing,” Mando sounded confused. “It’s just filtered water. From the tap…” Mando’s words trailed off.

Cobb suddenly felt foolish. Great. Now Mando was going to think Cobb really was some backwater hick for not even knowing the taste of clean water.

“Do you want more?” Mando asked. Cobb couldn’t quite read his voice, if there was sympathy or pity or if it was just a plain request. 

“I’m good for now, thanks,” Cobb lied. His headache had receded from a stab to a dull ache, and he was able to drop his hands into his lap. 

Hands.

His gaze searched for Mando’s hands, still wrapped around the water cup. Cobb’s stomach did a flip when his suspicion was confirmed—Mando’s gloves were off, exposing his hands. The skin was a pale tan, the knuckles reddened from where they rubbed against the inside of Mando’s gloves. Otherwise, they looked unexpectedly soft, the square nails neatly trimmed and free from any dirt. 

Cobb curled his own fingers into loose fists, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the state of his own hands, with the decades-old callouses and grime-stained nails. He wondered, if he were to touch Mando’s hand, if it would just make his look all the older.

“Feeling any better?” Mando asked.

_No._

“Yeah. Head doesn’t feel like it wants to explode anymore.” He braved a sheepish glance at Mando. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Mando was quiet for a moment. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine, I guess.” Cobb shrugged, avoiding his gaze. No need to tell him about the strange dreams. There was already enough wrong with Cobb, he didn’t need to know about those, too.

They sat in silence, the moment thickening into awkwardness. Finally, Mando put the cup down, and picked up his gloves. Cobb watched as those strong, soft hands were hidden once again under leather and metal, a pang of regret going through him.

“We’re almost to Crait,” Mando said. “Once we’re there, we can make a plan.”

Cobb’s heart gave a strange little flutter at the “we.” It brought up the bittersweet hope he’d been nursing for months. He was in no mood for false hope though, not after everything he’d been though. 

“OK, Mand—I mean, Din. We need to have a little talk before we start making plans between us.”

“All right.” Din folded his hands together, giving Cobb his full attention. 

“Look. I’ve gotta know. Why are you really here?” Cobb took a deep, shuddering breath. “I mean, I’m grateful, but, friend, we’ve only known each other a few days. If there’s something you want from me that you’re waiting to ask, just tell me.”

Din was silent for a long, long moment. For a second, Cobb wasn’t sure he was going to answer at all.

“There’s not something wrong with that armor, is there?” Cobb’s stomach knotted, remembering Oiler’s threat that he knew the Mandalorian whose armor Cobb had worn.

“No. That matter has been resolved.”

Cobb sighed, his temper rising. “Look, Din, I’m in no mood for guessing games, not after the day I’ve had. Just spit it out, will you?”

“I want… I want you company.”

Cobb’s heart did a leap.

“Seriously?”

“Yes. I wanted to come back to see you. I just… didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I…” He paused. “I didn’t know how to.”

It was a curious answer, but Din was a curious man. It was a good enough answer for now. Cobb felt a smile tug on the corner of his mouth. He chuckled.

“Well. Here I am, Din. My company is yours.” 

He’d meant it to come out glib. Somehow, it had come out raw, honest. Too honest. 

It had an effect on Din, too. He heard Din’s sudden intake of breath, saw the twitch to his fingers. It made Cobb want to reach out and take them in his—gloves or no—and hold tight. Just knowing that Din actually had wanted to seek him out, no matter what had stopped him, was enough to give Cobb the spark of hope he needed to pick the harder path between surrender and fighting. 

“So. Let’s talk plans, Din.” 


	11. {Din * Cobb} Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Oh, shove it, Mando! Stop pretending to be my friend when I know I was nothing more than a means to an end for you!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for processing the aftermath of sexual assault and slavery. Intense angst.

Crait was just as Din remembered it—a sparse expanse of salt-swept plains broken up only by jagged mountains. No cities, no spaceports, no people. Just the occasional abandoned mining settlement, and an old, forgotten Rebel base buried in the cliffs.

Din had parked the Azuituck at the mouth of a canyon, just deep enough to protect it from the worst if a storm whipped up. The sky was clear, though—a pale, milky blue that practically blended with the horizon—giving enough light for Din and Cobb to explore easily.

They walked silently for the better part of an hour, Din following Cobb’s lead as he wandered through the rocky passages. He kept looking down at his feet, scuffing them into the salt to reveal the red rhodochrosite beneath.

“New planet’s not as different as I thought it’d be,” Cobb said, finally breaking the silence. “Air’s different. Smells different. But, rock is rock.” He ran his hand along the cliff wall, his fingers coming away stained crimson.

“I chased a bounty here once,” Din said. “He didn’t realize that the rhodochrosite would hold his footprints even after the salt filled them in.” 

“Moron. Not you, him.” Cobb chuckled. It was the first time he’d truly sounded like himself since Din had picked him up.

“If he’d been smarter, I wouldn’t have needed to chase after him.”

“What was he wanted for?”

“Embezzlement.”

“Ooooh, sounds like a real dangerous fella.”

“He was tougher than I thought,” Din admitted. “He’d bought himself some expensive toys. He didn’t know how to use all of them, but it still made it harder to bring him in.”

“Has anyone ever gotten away from you?”

“No.”

“I’d believe it.” Cobb’s voice had taken on a tone that almost sounded like envy.

Din also didn’t miss the way Cobb’s right hand kept drifting down to his outer thigh and then jerking away. It didn’t take Din long to figure out that Cobb’s muscle memory kept reaching for his blaster—a blaster that wasn’t there. He was suddenly very aware of just how exposed Cobb was right now: no armor, no weapons. Din was as armored and armed as he’d ever been. He’d even brought the beskar spear and the darksaber with him, just to keep them safe. 

It only took Din a moment to make his decision. He unfastened the snaps that kept his blaster holster attached to his belt. 

“Cobb?” 

“Hmmm?” Cobb stopped walking, and turned to Din with a curious look.

“Take this.” Din held out the holstered blaster. His pulse sped up, his mouth went dry. He felt…oddly naked right now, offering Cobb this piece of his gear. It was the only surviving piece of his original armory. The rest had been vaporized with the rest of his home.

“I…” Cobb looked down at the offered weapon. His fingers twitched, as if already anticipating it’s heft. “That’s awful kind of you, Din, but… I can’t take your only blaster.”

“I have other weapons,” Din said. “Please. I insist.”

Cobb slowly reached out, and took the blaster. He pulled it out of the holster and studied it, taking in all the details. 

“It’s a—” Din started.

“—BlasTech IB-94,” Cobb finished as he sighted down the barrel. “I may not know much, but I do know about blasters.”

“You know more than you think. About a lot of things.” It slipped out before Din could stop himself, and he felt his cheeks heat.

Cobb looked up from the blaster, the surprise written clearly on his face. “I, um… you mind if I test it out?”

“Not at all.” 

Before Din had finished speaking, Cobb already had his arm straight, his face creased in concentration. He took aim and shot, knocking off a fist-sized rock from an outcropping about thirty feet away. His body swiveled, and he shot off a spike of stone from high up the canyon wall. Another pivot, and he took two rapid shots, exploding a couple of clumps of salt off the ground and leaving red scars in the ground. It all took about five seconds, the sound of the blaster still echoing down the canyon as Cobb put the safety back on.

Din was stunned. He’d seen Cobb fight against the krayt, but he’d never seen him with a blaster pistol. For the first time, Din wondered if he really would’ve won the duel against Cobb that first day in Mos Pelgo.

“Can I ask where you learned to shoot like that?” Din asked.

Cobb shrugged, but looked up to give Din a sheepish smile. “Self-taught. Once I finally got my hands on a blaster, I knew I’d have to learn to be fast. So, I practiced in secret. Flung my blaster out of my holster more times than I remember, missed a whole hell of a lot of targets, but eventually, I got good.”

“You’re better than good. You’re the fastest shot I’ve ever seen.”

“Now you’re just trying to make me blush.”

“I’m serious. Your skill is impressive.”

Cobb’s cheeks colored, and he flashed Din a bright smile. For a moment, he looked like the swaggering marshal Din had met all those months ago.

Then, Cobb went to attach his holster to his belt.

“Shit.” Cobb looked down at his clothes—the flowing white tunic and leggings, the long brown coat…and no belt. His lips pinched in frustration, his eyes screwing shut. 

“Give me a minute.” Din thought fast. He undid the fastenings for his cape under the top edge of his chest plate, and found the long end. Then, he pulled his vibroblade out of his boot, and cut a deep starter cut about ten inches into the fabric. Tearing a clean strip was easy at the point, and it came away with a satisfying rip. He approached Cobb, folding the fabric down twice into a band.

“May I?” he asked, suddenly keenly aware of how close he was to Cobb. Cobb nodded, looking both cautious and hopeful as he raised up his arms. Din guided the band around Cobb’s narrow waist, under his coat, then tied it in place like a sash. He tried not to let his fingers linger, forcing himself to keep his movements quick and efficient.

“Um. Now try putting the holster on.” Din said, stepping away quickly.

It took Cobb a few minutes to adjust the impromptu belt to his liking and attach the blaster holster. By the time he was finished, though, he was smiling again.

“Well, aren’t you just the quick thinker, now.” Cobb tested out his draw a few times, getting a feel for the new set-up. Once he was satisfied, he pointed to Din with a mock-serious expression. “Now, this is just a loan, mind you, until I get my own blaster.”

Din showed his palms, nodding. Both he and Cobb knew that it would take a while. Din didn’t have much in the way of credits, but Cobb had even less. Perhaps if Din asked Fennec to add clothing and supplies for Cobb as part of his “fee” for this assignment, they would provide them. He had a feeling they would. 

Din reattached his cape, which took a bit of extra time now that the fabric was narrower. The trouble was worth it, though, to see Cobb stand a little taller, have a bit more surety in his step as they went deeper into the canyon. 

Din cleared his throat. The seal on their silence had been broken. There were things they needed to discuss.

“So, Cobb. I know it’s only been a few hours, but have you… decided on a course of action yet?”

Cobb let out a humorless chuckle. He didn’t even bother turning to Din as he kept walking.

“What? Between do I want to die slowly and painfully over the course of a year, or if I want to die with a bang in a few weeks? Maybe. If they’re lucky enough to find a surgeon.”

Din’s chest tightened painfully. The truth, when put so bluntly, stabbed like a knife, stealing his breath. Out of Cobb’s mouth, neither sounded like much of a choice. 

“There may be a third option.”

“Oh?” Cobb finally turned his head, catching Din out of the corner of his eye.

“There hasn’t been a chance to tell you. To explain how I came to you.” 

At that, Cobb stopped walking. His brow creased, lips tight. Everything about him was tense, expecting the absolute worst. Din knew that feeling all too well.

“You have more friends than you think, Cobb. People who are working to help you right now.”

“Like who?”

“Fennec Shand and her network.” He kept his word. Boba’s identity was safe. 

“Fennec?” Cobb’s face practically lit up, disbelief smoothing his features. “The sharpshooter?”

“The same. She’s on Tatooine now, building an information network.” _She’s essentially the queen of Tatooine now._

“Well, good for her.” Cobb looked down and scuffed his toe in the salt, kicking up red dust. “She didn’t, um, didn’t feel like coming herself, though?” 

“There were matters she couldn’t abandon. It’s why she sent me.”

“Because she knew you’d get the job done.” Cobb looked up at the sky, blinking hard. “Would’ve been nice for her to swing by and say, ‘hello,’ at some point.”

Din felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. Cobb was talking about Fennec, but Din couldn’t help but feel guilty as well. He’d been so deep in his own dark well that he hadn’t sought out Cobb, either—and none of them had known he’d needed help until it was too late.

“She sent me because she knew I’d take care of you as she would,” Din said quietly, heart pounding. 

Cobb gave a small huff that could’ve been a laugh or a sigh. 

“I spoke with her while you were finishing up with the doctor,” Din continued cautiously, “and she told me she has a connection on Takodana. An information broker named Maz Kanata who might have a lead on someone who could remove that chip.”

Cobb’s eyebrow arched, and he finally turned to Din. “Tell me. How’d Fennec find me?”

Din swallowed hard. “You were delivered to the King of Tatooine. She was at his court, and she rescued you.”

Cobb’s face paled, contorting in a rapid series of conflicting emotions: relief and fear, grief and gratitude.

“Do, um, do you know what happened to the men who brought me?” He rubbed his fingertips over his bottom lip, refusing to meet Din’s eyes.

“They’re in custody, last I knew.”

“Alive?”

“Yes.”

Cobb turned and started walking down the canyon once more, giving Din no choice but to follow him. His step picked up speed and force, until he was jogging, then running. Din started to have trouble keeping up. With all the armor, he could either have slow stamina or a quick burst of speed, but not both. Cobb, on the other hand, was light and fast as a womp rat, and eventually there came a point where Din rounded a corner and couldn’t see Cobb before the next twist in the rock.

“Cobb!” Din called out through his struggling breath. “Wait!”

He got no reply past the sound of rapidly receding footfalls, the slight clatter of dislodged pebbles scattering over rock.

Din walked as fast as he could after Cobb, his heart hammering. Cobb had asked for the truth, and Din had answered as best he could. Should he have told him more? That Boba, the man he’d saved from death, was the king of Tatooine? That he and Fennec had been consumed with helping Cobb since he’d been delivered to Boba as an offering? 

A screeching, metallic sound echoed sharply through the canyon, making Din’s stomach lurch. He hurried his steps as much as he could, only seconds away from using his jetpack to fly over the canyon to see what had happened to Cobb. The next turn, though, revealed a large, rusted double door sunk into the side of the canyon. One of the doors had just been pulled open—Din could tell by the fresh arc of rhodochrosite that had been revealed by it’s bottom scraping the ground. The other door had some sort of logo embossed into the metal. Din ran his hand over it to clear the caked-on salt and dust, revealing what looked like a four-pointed diamond with a five-pointed star embedded in the middle.

“Cobb?” Din called through the open door. No response. He stepped forward, taking in the dark, narrow mineshaft. Kriff, Cobb was doing something stupid, wasn’t he? Din’s hand went for his blaster—and brushed against his thigh. Yeah. That was going to take some getting used to, wasn’t it? He had two options now: spear or darksaber. The spear had reach, but it could be cumbersome in small quarters. The darksaber was lighter and quicker. 

Din’s sense of urgency grew as he heard a deep clang down at the bottom of the shaft. He flicked on his helmet’s heat-seeking feature, and caught a human-shaped figure for a second before it disappeared. Dank farrik. Cobb must’ve rounded a corner into a deeper pocket of rock.

Din switched over to dark vision, and unclipped the darksaber from his belt. He hurried as much as he dared, his heavy footsteps echoing through the narrow tunnel. It reminded him vaguely of traveling through the sewers of Navarro to reach the Covert, though those had eventually opened up into wider chambers. This just seemed to grow narrower and narrower, forcing Din to start to stoop, hunch his shoulders forward as he approached the darkest spot on his HUD. He couldn’t believe Cobb came down here alone, without a light.

His visor greyed out suddenly, making him scramble to flick off the dark vision. As his eyes adjusted, he realized that the reason Cobb had disappeared was because he’d passed out of Din’s sensor’s range into a wide, open expanse. The cave was enormous, illuminated by shafts of light filtering in through cracks in the ceiling far above. The floor was cross-hatched with tracks, some still bearing old mining carts with that same star logo. There were crates, piles of rusted mining gear, and silent computer equipment that looked like it pre-dated the Empire. Din wondered vaguely if there would be anything of use for them here.

A small choking noise jerked his attention to the far corner of the cave. It took him a few seconds to locate Cobb—he was hunched over so far that his coat blended in with the textured wall. He had one hand braced against the wall underneath a hanging rack, a few old ropes draped over the pegs. 

“Hey, you can’t just run off on me like that!” Now that he knew Cobb was safe, he felt justified in his annoyance. “What were you thinking, coming down here alone with no light? You had no idea if it was stable!”

Cobb made another strained moan, and Din’s chest tightened. Was Cobb hurt? Din stepped closer, reaching a hand out to his friend.

A deep, mournful wail filled the cavern. It was so enormous, edged with so much fury, that Din couldn’t believe that it had come from Cobb.

Cobb turned so violently that Din took a quick step back. Tears streamed freely down Cobb’s burning cheeks, his lips twisted into a feral snarl. He had one of the ropes clenched in his fists, which confused Din until he looked closer.

It wasn’t a rope. It was a whip.

Everything fell into place with dizzying clarity. 

“They were here,” Cobb gasped. “They were here, too.” He twisted the whip in his hands so hard his knuckles paled. “I can’t escape them. Those fucking slaver pieces of shit were here, and they brought people here to the middle of fucking nowhere to die underground!”

Din didn’t know what to say, what to do. He knew Cobb was right, and no platitudes would change the brutal truth.

“Did they even have to chip them here? You escape the mines and you go…where? Live in the cliffs? Eat salt? There’s nothing out here! It’s a fucking slaver’s paradise! They could do anything they wanted to their property and no one would know!”

Cobb’s words were coming faster, angrier. He began to pace, storming back and forth as he twisted the whip around his hands.

“Cobb…” Din tried to soothe his friend, pull him out of the spiral he was falling into. Din had seen this before. There were times in the Covert when he’d witnessed one of his kin lose themselves in grief and fury. Sometimes the strain of battle was too much for them, or the horrors of violence closed in. If it wasn’t let out, safely and healthily, then it would fester like gas trapped in a pipe, exploding out at the worst time and damaging everything in its path.

It was plain that Cobb was already there, the strain of everything—his ordeal, his diagnosis, his past trauma—finally bursting out of him whether he wanted it to or not.

“Do you want to know what those men did to me, Din? What they said to me when I woke up and found myself tied up and helpless with the men who’d spent years—and I mean _years_ —making my life a living hell? Or should I tell you what I was thinking of? Huh?” 

“You can tell me whatever you want, Cobb,” Din said, trying to keep his voice even and calm. 

“Oh, shove it, Mando!” Cobb growled. “Stop pretending to be my friend when I know I was nothing more than a means to an end for you!”

Din sucked in his breath. He knew Cobb was just lashing out, but it still _hurt_ to hear.

“I was safe when I had the armor, and then you took it from me! Because I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t a _Mandalorian_.” The accusation wrenched out of Cobb’s mouth, hot and vicious, making Din’s stomach curl. “When those slaver bastards had me tied down, when they were hurting me, I thought to myself, ‘sure would be nice to have that armor! I bet Mando’s never been hurt a day in his fucking life!’”

Din recoiled, almost feeling as if Cobb had struck him physically. “That’s not true.”

“Seriously? Look at yourself! You walk around dressed in fucking _beskar_ , Mando, fucking daring the whole galaxy to have a crack at you! So tough not even a krayt dragon can take you down! Parading around like some sort of warrior king!”

Another blow, and Din took another step back. He wanted to tell Cobb he was wrong. That he was lying because he was hurt. Deep down, though, Din knew he was right.

“How’s it feel, Mando? How’s it feel to be impervious? To be untouchable? Bet you’re so tough, you’ve never lost a fight in your life! Never had nothing taken from you!”

Din couldn’t move. It was like a giant fist had enveloped him, squeezing tight. For the first time, he realized that it wasn’t just his body’s physical response to Cobb’s emotional outbursts—he truly was frozen in place. The tightness increased, squeezing his ribs, and he let out a gasp. 

A rapid series of images flickered through Din’s mind. Cobb floating in his sleep. The kid stopping the mudhorn in its tracks. The cup of water thrown across the hold of the Azuituck. Cara’s terror as the kid used his power to choke her.

_Cobb’s one of them._

Which meant, if Din didn’t think fast, get Cobb out of this rage, he could hurt Din. Badly. He had to take a gamble, open up the vault he’d been hiding all his own emotions behind. 

“I’ve had everything taken from me, Cobb,” Din gasped. “I have no family. No covert. No clan.” It was like a snowball rolling down a hill. The more he spoke, the more his pain latched on, growing in size and speed. “It’s my own fault. I broke my word, then I broke my creed. All for him. For the child. Everything I did, everything I sacrificed, everything that was destroyed, was worth it if it meant he was safe… and now Grogu’s gone!”

Just saying his name felt like a blade to his heart. His whole being _ached_ to cradle the tiny child, to hear his burbled laughter. He would do anything— _anything_ —to see those big, dark eyes again, bask in the unconditional love and trust he’d never felt before…and probably never would again.

“I am no longer a father. No longer Mandalorian. _Dar'buir bal dar'manda_. I live in disgrace and isolation. I have nothing left save what you see before you.” 

Din’s desperate words seemed to cut through the red fog of fury blinding Cobb. He blinked rapidly, as if seeing Din for the first time. The invisible grip on his body disappeared, and Din sagged in relief. 

“I didn’t know,” Cobb whispered.

“I didn’t tell you.” Din’s eyes felt hot, his throat tight. “I didn’t know how.”

“I… I’m sorry.” Cobb spluttered. “Maker… I…” Cobb’s face was pale, his eyes shining with fresh tears. Everything about him seemed diminished again, his fury bleeding out and leaving only grief.

“This armor does not make me invincible. It doesn’t protect me from pain and loss.” 

Cobb didn’t say anything. He looked like he was struggling to breathe, let alone speak. Din took a cautious step towards him, extending a hand out. Cobb looked at it, then up at Din with a sharp wariness that reminded Din of the abandoned dogs he used to find wandering the sewers in Navarro. 

Cobb wasn’t an animal though. He was a man, one who had been deeply hurt his entire life, one who Din was coming to realize he’d do about anything for.

“I don’t care what you think of me, though. The only thing I need you to _believe_ is that I am your friend. I will not hurt you. I do not want anything from you that you do not offer freely, and I swear to you, I will find a way to free you from that chip, or I will die alongside you trying.”

***********************

Cobb was disoriented. His head throbbed dully, like the headache was trying to break through the barrier of the pain medication. He had no idea what had just happened. Seeing the whips had sent him down a spiral of grief and rage, but then… then he’d actually felt the dark emotions like a living thing inside him. He’d lashed out at the one person who had done nothing but help him, and Cobb _swore_ he had actually grabbed Din, though he knew there was no way that was possible.

His hand came up to his mouth, his other covering his abdomen. He felt gut-punched, all the air sucking out of him so rapidly that it left him dizzy. It was all just too much. Din’s words, his promises of help, spoken of all places here, in this Diamond Star hell-hole where people like him had been beaten and raped and worked to death in the name of other people’s profit.

 _You have no idea, Din._ _They took everything from me, too. My freedom. My childhood. My dignity. My innocence._

_My life._

He was going to fucking burst. Into sobs or screams or both or maybe this was it, maybe his head was about to explode and maybe it was about time because Maker he could not live another second with this fury, this sorrow ripping up his insides. He was exposed, a raw, gaping wound—

The cool touch of beskar on his forehead shocked him into awareness. He’d doubled over on himself, and Din must’ve stepped in so Cobb’s head came to rest on his chest. Din’s hands slid down Cobb’s arms, supporting him without embracing him.

“ _Orjorer gar or'trikar_ ,” Din whispered, “ _Gar morut'yc burc'ya_.”

“I don’t know what that means!” Cobb cried out, his voice cracking under the strain of holding himself together.

“Scream your grief. You are safe, my friend.”

“I can’t!” Cobb was already sobbing, hands clenched into fists. “I can’t! I’m going to hurt you again, I’m going to hurt—”

“No. You won’t. _Ni kar'taylir gar or'trikar ner. Ni kar'taylir gar or'trikar ner_.” Din was practically crooning, the rhythmic words drawing out the poison churning in Cobb’s heart. 

“I don’t want to!” Cobb slammed the side of his fist into Din’s chest. The second he spoke, he knew he wasn’t talking to Din. 

“Again. Louder.”

“I don’t want to!” Cobb yelled. “I don’t want any of it! I… I didn’t do anything wrong! I didn’t want their attention, I didn’t want their favors, I didn’t want… I didn’t want…”

A full, raw scream erupted from the core of Cobb’s being, decades of fear and anger pouring out of him like bile. He ground his forehead against Din’s chest, slamming his fists against the solid plates.

“I thought I was finally free,” Cobb sobbed. “I thought I’d done it. Oiler was dead and the Hutts were dead and the Empire was dead but they just keep coming back! First the Mining Collective, then Oiler himself with his strongman and they found me again and they, they…"

He couldn’t say it with words. Only with more howling grief and furious fists and Maker he was never going to stop he was going to tear himself apart he was going to tear Din this mine the whole fucking galaxy apart—

A low, keening moan came from under Din’s helmet. It rose in pitch to match the timbre of Cobb’s next cry, holding its own sort of terrible sorrow. Cobb’s heart seized onto it. The next sob that escaped his throat was in perfect time with Din’s. His pain latched onto Din’s, entwining itself in his lamentation. 

They harmonized their grief again, and again, and again, until Din was able to guide Cobb’s receding sobs into soft, tired moans. Even then, Din did not let go of Cobb, instead pulling him up gently until Cobb’s head was resting on Din’s shoulder. Cobb buried his face in Din’s black cape, nestled between Din’s shoulder and his helmet, not caring how much he was messing the dark fabric. They swayed together until Cobb’s tears finally ran dry and his chest felt hollow.

They stood there, silent, for what felt like an eternity. Din’s arms cradled Cobb’s back, holding him up, protecting him, and Cobb held Din in kind. For the first time, the armor didn’t feel like a fortress wall, it felt like… like Din. Just another part of him like his words and his breath and his generous spirit. 

“What was that you were saying?” Cobb murmured, not lifting his face from Din’s shoulder. “That ‘nee kart-tay-leer something?”

 _“Ni kar'taylir gar or'trikar ner.”_ The words were smooth as glass as they rolled off Din’s tongue. “I know your grief as mine.”

Normally, if someone would have said something like that to him, he would’ve laughed. If Din had said it, even an hour ago, Cobb would’ve flustered around, trying to figure out how Din meant it. There was no doubt right now, was there? Not after a moment like that. Something had shifted between them, an intimacy forged in the trust of shared sorrow.

Maker, Din was really his, wasn’t he?

“How’d you do that?” Cobb whispered. “Just take everything and pull it away?”

“It’s a practice among Mandalorians. When you live a warrior’s life, you have to learn to survive your grief. Not just by mourning the fallen. We see things. Survive horrors. Inflict them. Without a way to loosen the pain, it festers. Kills.”

“So, you’ve done this a lot?”

“No. I’d seen it done among members of my Covert. I’ve had it done for me recently by… by a friend. I’ve never been trusted enough to guide someone through it before.”

Cobb hummed against Din. “I think at this point, I’d trust you with just about anything.”

Din’s arms tightened around Cobb. “I thank you for your trust.”

Cobb was thoroughly exhausted, but he didn’t feel ashamed by his display. He felt cleansed. He still hurt, but he could examine his wounds without the barbed edges tearing at him. He didn’t know how long the feeling would last, but with Din holding him like this, he felt like he could face anything and it would be all right.

“I’m sorry about your son,” Cobb said. “I thought you said he was safe.”

Din stiffened in Cobb’s arms, and for a moment, he thought he was going to withdraw. However, Din just took a deep, shuddering breath. 

“He is. He’s with his own kind now.”

“More little green fellas? That must’ve been a sight.”

“No. He’s… he’s with the Jedi.”

Cobb pulled back a bit, finally daring to look up into the visor of Din’s helmet. He couldn’t see him through the tinted transparisteel, but somehow, he could feel Din’s gaze meeting his. 

“Your boy’s a Jedi? Like, laser swords and seeing things in the future?” It sounded so far-fetched, that little bitty kiddo—so young he didn’t even speak yet—being a Jedi Knight?

Din’s head cocked in surprise. “You already know about the Jedi?”

“I know some stuff, sure. Mostly stories, but first-hand ones.” Cobb wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, sniffing. Maker, he must look a mess.

“How long have you known about your Jedi powers?”

“My what now?” Cobb couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Din, friend, I am _not_ a Jedi.”

Din was quiet for a long moment. “Have you always floated in your sleep?”

OK, now Cobb was sure he was hearing things wrong. “Say what now?”

“You were floating in your sleep on the ship.”

Cobb stared at Din, dumbfounded. “I’ve been having these dreams lately, but I don’t know anything about floating.”

“How long have you been dreaming?”

“Since… um. Since the chip was reactivated.”

“Huh. Have you always been able to grab things with your mind?”

“Are you messing with me again?”

“I wish I was.” Din sighed deeply, “I think we have even more things to discuss.”

“Not here, yeah? I’ve had enough of these places to last a lifetime.” Reluctantly, Cobb disentangled himself from Din’s embrace. The need to leave this place was strong enough to make him sacrifice that comfort. Though, he had a feeling if he asked Din to hold him again later, he wouldn’t refuse.

“Is that how you knew it was safe to come down here?” Din asked carefully. “Your experience working in mines?”

Cobb gave a humorless chuckle. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t really thinking about ‘safe’ when I came down here. But yeah, sure, I’ve had to feel my way into and out of the dark before. Plenty of times.”

He took a look around the mine. It no longer gave him the same feeling of sickening dread as it had when he’d first entered, until his gaze landed at the whip he’d dropped. He kicked it aside as if it were a live, venomous thing, his back pulsing with phantom pain. 

“If this mine’s laid out anything like the ones Diamond Star had on Tatooine, there should be an exit not too far, something that cuts up to the surface.”

“Diamond Star,” Din repeated. “The logo on the door.”

“Yup. They sure love that damned logo. Put it on everything they own: carts, computers, crates, slaves.”

Cobb could feel the wave of shock rippling off Din. He had to know, though, right now, while he was still brave, if Din could fully understand the depths of what had been done to Cobb. To all the slaves Diamond Star owned.

“Cobb?”

“Yeah?” He turned, bracing himself. What was it going to be: platitude or sympathy?

“You are the strongest person I have ever known.”

Cobb was struck speechless. Mando, calling _him_ strong?

“Come on,” Cobb said, extending a hand to Din. “Let’s get out of here.”

It only took Din a second to take Cobb’s offered hand, lacing his gloved fingers in Cobb’s bare ones. If Cobb hadn’t already run an emotional gamut, he would’ve felt his body flush, his heart flutter. As it was, all he felt was a deep sense of calm, of absolute _rightness_ , as if Din’s hand had been created only to fit in Cobb’s.

It was all the hope he needed to make the choice he’d been putting off since he’d left the medical frigate.

“Din?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me about this Maz Kanata. I think I might want to try our third option for dealing with the chip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's safe at this point to say that new chapters will be updating every 7-9 days. If that changes, I'll leave a note at the end of the most recent chapter. Thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting on this fic as I wrestle it into existence. I'm doing my best to reply to all the comments, but in the meantime I need you to know that I love and treasure EVERY SINGLE ONE! <3 <3 <3 Y'all keep me writing!
> 
> UPDATE 2/24/21: Heh, I jinxed myself good, didn't I? ;) The DinCobb Bingo was fun, but it did throw me a little off track on updating this fic. It's safe to say I'm skipping this week, but I should have the next chapter next week. Sorry for the delay, and thanks for your patience!


	12. {Din * Cobb} Temperance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’ve got your back, Din. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you need, alright?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to GuenVanHelsing for beta-ing, and thanks to everyone's patience for waiting for this chapter an extra week longer!
> 
> Bringing things up a bit. :) No warnings apply.

“So, this is where we are.” Din pointed at the galaxy map illuminating the Azuituck’s small cockpit. “Crait. We’re going here to the Takodana sector.”

“Just in a straight line like that?” Cobb asked, tracing his finger along the path.

“No. The navicomputer calculates the safest route between all the planets, usually along the hyperspace lanes. Press that button there.”

“This one?”

“Yes. That brings up the programmed routes.”

Cobb pressed the button on the console, and the map filled in with bright yellow lines, connecting all the systems like a web. He leaned forward in his seat, studying the lanes intently.

“There’s so many of them.”

“There’s even more, back routes used by only smugglers and hunters.” Din sighed. “I used to have some of them programmed into the navicomputer of my old ship.”

“What happened to it? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Din thought for a moment. Even a couple of hours ago, he would’ve withheld the information, keeping his loss close to his chest. Now, though, with so much shared between them in such a short period of time, it didn’t feel like Cobb was prying. Din actually wanted him to know.

“It got blown up by an Imperial remnant a few months ago.”

Cobb whistled softly. “I’m sorry to hear that. Did you lose much?”

“Like I said. Everything I owned.”

“Wow. Sounds about like the worst day ever.”

“Close to it,” Din said. They were skating perilously close to the other memories of that terrible day.

Luckily, Cobb shifted the subject. “So, the navicomputer calculates the route for you?”

“It helps. It has to keep track of all the different systems orbits. Space is a moving, living place. None of the planets are static. Stars die and are reborn all the time. Planets break apart—”

“Or are blown apart,” Cobb added solemnly.

Din nodded. “The computer is constantly updating with new systems data. What you have to do, as the navigator, is plug in the coordinates for the destination, and plot which route you want to take. Some are faster, some are rougher, and some are too public, and run the risk of being caught by an interdictor if you’re wanted.”

Cobb nodded, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. So far, he’s easily absorbed everything Din had been teaching him about flying the Azuituck. Cobb punched in the coordinates for Takodana, which brought up various options for their trip.

“Which one do you think is best to take?” Din asked.

Cobb scoffed. “How should I know? You’re the flight instructor, here.”

“It’s not much different than reading a land map, if you know what to look for. Like here,” Din pointed at a tight web of small lanes on the map, “there’s going to be a lot of traffic in places like this. Most likely we’ll have to come out of hyperspace to recalculate the route, which puts us at risk for pirate raids.”

“So, to avoid that…” Cobb traced his finger up along a thicker line, “maybe we should use this one. The Rimma Trade Route. Hell, even I’ve heard of that one. We can go up, change over at the Corellian Trade Spine, then over the Great Gran Run. Bam! Takadona!”

He flashed Din a delighted grin, and Din felt himself returning it. It had been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of teaching new skills to someone. Grogu had been too small to teach in this way, though Din had begun to lay the groundwork with systems names whenever he’d brought the map up. It was… nice, having someone to share knowledge with.

“Very good.” Din scooted back, offering the run of the console to Cobb. “Use these dials to select the route. Once you have it where you want it, push the dials in to lock it in.”

“Like this?” Cobb learned forward into Din’s space, carefully modulating the knobs. As Cobb worked the machine, Din allowed himself a moment to study Cobb’s face. He liked how his arched eyebrows scrunched together in concentration, how the pink tip of his tongue poked out from his clamped teeth. This was the first time Cobb had seemed even marginally relaxed since Din had seen him again, and it made his heart flutter to even have this glimpse of the confident marshal again.

“All right. What now?” Cobb turned his face to Din, and Din’s face heated guiltily. He felt like he’d been caught spying when he shouldn’t have.

“Um,” Din cleared his throat, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. “Now we do a quick check on the fuel consumption estimates, make sure we have enough to get there. Also check the time estimate to make sure you’re OK with spending—”

“Fifteen hours?” Cobb sputtered. “That doesn’t sound very ‘hyper’ to me!”

“Beats five months.” Din pointed out the real-space time estimate beneath it on the readout.

“Fair enough. All right, fifteen hours it is.” Cobb looked back at the console, rapidly licking his bottom lip. “Now, do we go?”

“Yes. It’s this lever right here.” Din patted the engager. “I was thinking I should do it this time, though. Last time I jumped to hyperspace you got that headache.”

“I think I’ll be OK this time,” Cobb said slowly. “I’ve had a fresh dose of the meds, and I know what to expect.”

“You sure?” Din didn’t want to cause Cobb any more pain that he could avoid.

“I am. Been waiting my whole life to jump a ship into hyperspace.” He flashed Din a boyish grin, and Din’s breath came in a shuddering sigh. There was no way he could deny that smile anything.

“Here. Step back.” He pulled himself out of the pilot’s seat, and after a little bit of maneuvering in the small space, he was able to drop himself into the gunner’s seat. “All right. Take the controls, Captain Cobb.”

Cobb’s eyes were bright as stars as he slid into the pilot’s seat. It was amazing that only a day ago, Cobb had been as nervous as Kuiil’s blurrg just by being aboard the ship. Now, he was almost jumping at the chance to fly it himself.

Cobb shifted in the seat, making himself at home in it. He took a deep breath, and put his hand on the hyperspace engager. He looked back at Din. “You sure I’m not about to jump us straight into a planet and kill us both?”

“No,” Din answered honestly. “There’s always that incremental chance that the navicomputer is wrong. Every jump is a risk, but no greater than one you take when you get on your speeder bike.”

“Fair enough.” Cobb frowned thoughtfully, then turned back to the console. “All right. Here goes nothing.”

Cobb squeezed and pulled back on the levers slowly. The stars elongated into trails, and Din felt the familiar _push_ as his body fought against the change in space-time. He kept his eye on Cobb, ready to catch him if his body couldn’t handle the shift.

This time, though, Cobb barely winced. He was utterly focused, his body relaxed and calm, as he drank in the sight of the blurred stars spiraling outside the cockpit window.

“Maker, it’s gorgeous. More than I ever imagined.” Cobb’s wonder smoothed years off his face, his eyes glowing with the swirling luminescence of the entire galaxy.

“It is,” Din said, but wasn’t talking about the view outside the cockpit.

They sat in silence for a while, Cobb watching the stars, and Din watching Cobb. A warm peace filled Din, filling in the empty corners that had been barbed with grief only a few hours before. Performing the _echoy laar_ with Cobb had purged much of his own pent-up pain, releasing guilt, fear, anxiety.

It had been different from when Boba had done it for him aboard _Slave I,_ when he had been the one lost in his own black spiral of loss and anger. It had taken hours of howling into Boba’s shoulder, crying so hard that his helmet’s moisture-wicking system hadn’t been able to keep up. Boba had met him sob for sob, strike for strike, sharing Din’s unbearable burden until Din _knew_ , to the core of his being, that he wasn’t alone.

The weight of Cobb’s grief didn’t make Din feel any heavier. In fact, he felt like he could face the next step in their journey unfettered, focused. Which was good—he had no idea what to expect from Takodana, or from this pirate queen, Maz Kanata. He had to be ready for anything.

“Hey, you falling asleep there, partner?” Cobb’s soft question yanked Din back to the present, his head snapping back up.

“I’m awake,” Din said. Though, as he said it, he could feel the heaviness in his eyelids threatening to shut them again.

Cobb gave him a little smile. “It’s been a tough day for both of us. Why don’t you go get some rest?”

Din looked up at Cobb, sitting in the pilot’s seat, with the churning swirl of hyperspace framing his strong face, throwing lightning into his silver hair. Oh wow. Din was tired if he was starting to get poetic.

“It’s OK. We still have a lot we need to discuss.”

“And we can discuss it when you wake up,” Cobb pressed gently. “We have fifteen hours, and it’s not like I can go far.”

“Are you sure you’re OK here on your own?” Din was starting to give in.

Cobb fixed Din with a look. “Din, friend. You don’t need to watch me every second. I promise, if I need anything, I’ll wake you up right quick.”

Din’s face heated guiltily. It was foolish to think that he could watch Cobb constantly, as if Din’s vigilant eye could keep Cobb from harm.

“Look, if it helps you, I could use some time to myself to think,” Cobb sighed. “A lot has happened in a real short amount of time.”

“Of course.” When Cobb put it that way, it made a lot of sense. If Din was honest with himself, he could use some time to recalibrate as well.

There was one thing, though, that they did need to discuss before he left.

“We need to talk about sleeping arrangements,” Din said, nervousness making him blunt.

Cobb’s brows arched. “There were two cots back there, right? I figured one for me, one for you.”

Din nodded, struggling to find the words. This was harder to broach than he had expected, especially in the light of their building familiarity. Would Cobb be offended? Misinterpret Din’s need for privacy for a lack of trust?

Even more importantly…did this conversation even matter? Din himself had said today that he was _dar’manda_ —but did he believe that? He still wore his armor, still kept to his creed. Was it out of habit? Hope? Faith? He still wasn’t sure. Until he knew for sure, though, it was easiest for him to stick to the Way he’d grown up believing in.

“I’ve gotten used to sleeping with my helmet off,” Din blurted. “I haven’t had anyone else around for a while, so it’s been safe to.” He winced at his choice of words. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Cobb. I know you’re a man of honor. But, I…”

Cobb’s expression shifted from one of confusion to one of understanding. “You can’t sleep easy with your helmet off if you know someone’s nearby.”

Din nodded, his stomach knotting. It sounded so foolish when Cobb put it that way.

Cobb clucked his tongue. “Well, I suppose I could sleep up here, but I know you’re not going to let me, the way you’ve been fussing over my health. Which I do appreciate, but still. We could sleep in shifts, but that won’t give us much time to talk.”

“It’s all right,” Din’s stomach knotted. He shouldn’t have even brought it up. “I’ll get used to sleeping with my helmet on again.” He’d done it for months, almost a year, when Grogu had traveled with him. He could do it for Cobb.

“Hold on now. I think I have an idea.” Cobb got up out of the pilot’s seat and left the cockpit, giving Din little choice but to follow him.

Cobb was looking up at the ceiling between the two cots. “Yup, just as I remembered from earlier. There’s metal connectors on the wood-panel ceiling. Where’s the toolbox on this ship?”

“I’ll go get it.” Din said, quiet hope building in his chest.

By the time he’d retrieved the tool box, Cobb had the blanket Din had thrown over him and was already measuring it out along the ground. “It won’t cover the area completely, but as long as it’s OK for me to see your feet, we’ll be good.” He looked up and fixed Din with a grin. “Now let’s see if we can find more blankets.”

A little more digging in the cabinets revealed more blankets—as well as some spare flightsuits and underclothes.

“I’m coming back for those later,” Cobb said.

Working together, it only took them a bit to attach a series of small, magnetic clamps to the edge of two blankets and stick them onto the ceiling around Din’s cot. He would be completely closed in, except for a small gap near the foot of the cot.

“Perfect!” Cobb said with a satisfied smile. “Looks downright cozy in there.”

“It does,” Din agreed. His whole body ached to crawl inside the dark, warm cocoon, and lose himself in deep sleep. He looked at Cobb, suddenly feeling shy. “Thank you.”

Cobb shrugged, and patted Din’s shoulder. “I’ve got your back, Din. Don’t be afraid to tell me what you need, alright?”

Din nodded, his heart so warm it was practically glowing. “What are you going to do while I sleep?”

“Probably watch the stars some more.” Cobb smiled. “Definitely change into one of those flight suits.”

“If you get bored, there’s a HoloCaster in the cockpit. It’s the monitor on the right with the—”

“I know how to use a HoloCaster, Din.” Cobb gave an incredulous little laugh. “Even scavenged one for the town and fixed it up. I’m not a complete idiot.”

“I never said you were.” Din’s cheeks were definitely burning. “All right. I’m going to go hide in my cave before I try to teach you how to buckle your own boots.”

Cobb’s brow creased, lips tightened. “No. You’ve gotta teach me that first before you nap, or I’m going to trip on something and blow up the ship on accident.”

Cobb’s expression was so sincere that Din believed him for half a second. Then, everything caught up to him, and he started laughing. It wasn’t even that funny, but something about the combination of Cobb’s seriousness and the utter absurdity of his words loosened the tightness in Din’s chest. Cobb joined in, infected by Din’s laugh. Maker, it felt _good_.

Din’s laugh sighed to a stop. He turned to Cobb, taking in the crinkles around his eyes, the curl of his lips. _This_ was the Cobb he’d ached for—his easy humor, his no-nonsense manner, his relaxed smile.

_I could spend the rest of my life making you smile, Cobb Vanth, and that would be enough for me._

Din froze, afraid that he’d spoken the words out loud. To his relief, Cobb merely clapped him on the shoulder again.

“Get some sleep, Din. You’ve earned it.”

Din watched Cobb slide into the cockpit, back to his private star-show and even more private thoughts. Din wasted no time climbing into his cot, pulling off his helmet as soon as he felt secure. The pillow, thin as it was, felt so kriffing smooth and cool on his cheek. He relished the absence of the sound of his own breathing, the lack of pressure on the back of his neck.

Before he closed his eyes, he ran his fingers along the thick, dark fabric of the curtain in front of him. It didn’t feel like a barrier. It felt like security. Warmth. Cobb’s way of looking after him and respecting Din’s beliefs, no matter how confusing they were right now.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Din fell asleep feeling truly safe.

***************

Cobb watched the star show from the pilot seat of the gunship, mesmerized by the swirling lights. At first glance, it all seemed like blurs of white against blue, but the longer he looked he picked up on the colors hidden within. Here, a streak of red, there a curl of orange.

It was a bit like looking at Din. On the surface, he was all pale metal and inky black fabric. Stare long enough though, and Cobb would catch the bits of color that danced around him—pink compassion, orange energy, blue grief.

Cobb’s heart tightened. Maker, the sounds Din had been making in that cave. Cobb had heard mourning wails before, more times than he cared to remember, but something about hearing those sounds coming out of Din had rattled him deeply.

_Like it or not, Cobb, Din’s human. He’s got a name and a past and sorrows of his own._

He sighed, and sank back into the seat. Din had only been a part of his life for a year. First as a fascinating ally, then as a tantalizing memory. Eventually, that had built itself up into a little bit of hero worship hadn’t it? It’d been a harmless indulgence, back when the idea of seeing his Mando again had been nothing but a laughable fantasy. Now that he was here, though, snoring loud enough so Cobb could hear it over the purr of the engines, it was all too real.

Not in a bad way, but in a way that was making Cobb rethink his perceptions of his mysterious friend. Sure, he’d heard the stories about the Mandalorians—even got to be part of one for a bit—but nothing could’ve prepared him for what it would mean to actually get to know _Din_ , to hear his pain, his uncertainty. Kriff, Mando was brave enough to launch himself headfirst into the mouth of a krayt dragon, but Din was almost too scared to ask Cobb if he could have the privacy to sleep comfortably.

There it was, wasn’t it? Mando versus Din. Mando was a hero and a hunter, and Din was a real, breathing person. Where did Mando end and Din begin? Or was there no difference, the identities entwined. It was tricky.

The only thing Cobb knew for sure, though, was that he had to start thinking of Din as more than just some untouchable bad-ass, and more like a real friend. Din had made it clear that he was in this mission for the long haul, and Cobb owed him the same. He had to find a way to show Din that if—no, _when_ —they got this fucking chip removed from Cobb’s head, he wasn’t going to up and leave Din to face his own troubles alone. Cobb would be there. Not because he owed him, but because he _cared_.

He couldn’t well take care of Din if he couldn’t take care of himself, now could he? He knew he was still recovering, but it might be nice to actually have some agency after so long. So, he pulled himself away from the stars and went back down into the living space. Din’s snores were even louder in here, but they weren’t annoying. It was oddly comforting, actually, and Cobb smiled to himself as he headed to the cabinets they had raided earlier.

He grabbed what he needed: small towel, razor, soap, change of clothes. He had a feeling the flight suit would be too big on him, but it was still better than the dust-caked slave rags he’d been traveling in. The fresher door had barely shut behind him before he was stripping. He hung up the coat and the makeshift belt, but the rest he wadded up and slammed onto the floor. Never would he _ever_ wear something like that again. They’d make good cleaning rags. Or maybe he’d ask Din how to jettison them into space.

He took his time in the sonic shower, keeping the setting low so as not to sting the freshly-healed skin on his back. It was an odd feeling—tingly and slightly itchy, though no real pain. Back in the Diamond Star camp, his lash-marks would ache for weeks after Whipper was done with him. They never spared anything as luxurious as bacta on a slave—especially one that was being taught a lesson. He knew he still had scars from the agonizing healing process, when the wounds would re-open day after day as he continued his labors on the oil lines.

When he got out of the shower, curiosity won out over caution. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and checked out his back in the mirror.

“Well, I’ll be,” Cobb murmured. He’d fully expected to find bright new additions to the nexus of puckered flesh that mottled his back, like red rivers cutting through pale valleys. There were none, however. In fact, some of the old scars had even smoothed out, the skin slightly more pink and elastic. Underneath it all, though, he could still see the salt-white outline of the Diamond Star brand.

_Is there enough bacta in the galaxy to ever make_ **_that_ ** _mark fade?_

The barbed knot of rage tightened under his heart again. He’d loosened so much of his pain with Din, but he knew there were some things that were just burned too deep to let go of. Sure, a long cry was good for the soul—but it did nothing to change the past or fix the future.

_How much bacta would it take to erase every slaver’s mark on every slave? Who would pay for it?_

_Would anybody fucking care?_

The razor he’d placed on the shelf under the mirror rattled. If Cobb wanted to fool himself, he could say it was the ship’s fault. He knew better, though, didn’t he?

_“How long have you known about your Jedi powers?”_

Cobb swallowed hard, remembering Din’s words in the mine. He didn’t have Jedi powers. Fuck, if he did, he would’ve liberated every slave camp on Tatooine years ago.

_Y’know, like that one Jedi should’ve, forty years ago._

Cobb didn’t like the Jedi. He didn’t trust the Jedi. Not after the stories that floated around Mos Espa as he was growing up, of when the Jedi had picked one of their own to take away to the stars. What kind of hero saves one boy but leaves the rest? How does he leave the boy’s _mother_ behind? How does he not go back and get the rest of his knights to free every last child born into bondage?

_If he had come back for us, I would’ve been freed, too._

The razor rattled harder. Cobb focused on it, directed his anger at it. He didn’t know what he wanted to achieve, he just wanted it to—

_MOVE._

He darted to the side just as the razor shot across the fresher towards him. He was quick, but not enough to clear the blade’s path entirely. His cheek stung, but Cobb was too stunned to deal with the cut.

He’d just moved the razor with his mind. That wasn’t possible, but somehow, he’d done it. Din wasn’t seeing things. Cobb could actually do this.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror again, this time, face-on. A thin line of blood welled on his unshaven cheek, bright and ominous. It had been as easy as tapping a dilarium line. Just turn on the spout and let loose all the dark, angry feelings roiling under the surface…

And Cobb had so many dark, angry feelings.

The back of his neck twinged, hard, enough to make him wince. The pain meds were doing their job, keeping the worst at bay, but Cobb knew that whatever it was that he’d done had affected the chip. Somehow, whatever had happened when it had been reactivated had messed with his brain.

Which meant he better be damn fucking careful with whatever this power was if he really wanted to get the chip out.

Cobb closed his eyes, and breathed deep. He knew how to stay calm, to keep a level head. It’s what had helped him survive as long as he had. He couldn’t just give in and burn himself out on this rage. He could hurt himself, or maybe someone else.

_Like you hurt Din?_

The fresh memory surfaced: Din rigid as a toy trooper, his voice strained and nervous...

_“I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how.”_

Cobb’s hand flew up to his mouth. He’d directed his anger at Din! Saying those horrible things to him, he’d felt like he’d actually been hitting him, crushing him…

Oh, Maker. This was bad. This was really, really bad.

Cobb squeezed his hands into fists.

“I’m not losing control again,” he said to his reflection in the mirror. “I don’t care how mad I get or how good it feels, I am not going to do anything that can hurt someone.” Especially not Din.

His reflection nodded back resolutely, and the pact was made with himself.

He picked the razor up off the ground. It felt small and innocuous in his hand, just another tool. He took it to the sink and rinsed it off, putting it back on the shelf. Maybe he’d try again later. Right now, he just wanted to patch himself up, dress in his new clothes, and find something to occupy his mind. Maybe take proper inventory of the ship supplies. Or check out the HoloNet, see if he could pick up some news.

When he came out of the fresher, though, and heard Din’s snores, he knew there was only one place he wanted to be. He curled up on his own bunk and wrapped his new blanket around himself. He stared at the spot on the curtain where he guessed Din’s helmet-less head was.

He wondered—not for the first time—what Din looked like. He said he was human, so that narrowed it down a little bit. He could be brown-skinned and curly-haired, or red-haired and freckled. For all Cobb knew, Din’s face looked like Cobb’s back. Did it matter? Not really. But it would be nice to know.

Right now, though, it was enough to hear him sleep, to know the rhythm of his unfiltered breath and the cadence of his snores. It felt wildly intimate, a secret only shared with Cobb, and he reached out to lightly brush the fabric, pretending it was Din’s cheek.

“I promise, Din, I won’t hurt you,” Cobb said quietly. “I’ll keep you safe, too.”


	13. {Cobb * Din} Temperance, Reversed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Your creed is a part of you, a big part of you, but it’s not all you are."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge, huge thanks to my amazing Beta GuenVanHelsing, and to staranon for being a great sounding board and continued inspiration.

The sound of a chiming alarm yanked Cobb from his dreams. He’d been home, safe with people he loved, but right now, he was as far away from Mos Pelgo as he’d ever been. Cobb let out a shuddering sigh, trying not to let the emptiness spread through his chest. 

“You out there, Cobb?” Din’s unfiltered voice called out from behind the sleeping curtain. 

“Yeah, sure am. Just waking up.”

Mando’s helmeted face appeared in the gap in the curtains, and he nodded at Cobb.

“That’s the alarm to let us know we’re coming out of hyperspace in 5 minutes,” Din said.

“Maker, did we really sleep fifteen hours?” Cobb rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t believe it. 

“No. Only ten,” Din checked the chrono embedded on his bracer. “There must be something that we need to recalculate on the hyperspace nav.”

Cobb’s heart sank. “I must’ve calculated something wrong when I set in the coordinates,” Cobb said.

“Not necessarily,” Din reassured, “might just be a change along one of the lanes. Happens sometimes.”

Din was right. According to the nav computer, it was a nearby solar flare that was forcing all travel along the Corellian Trade Spine to recalculate. When they pulled out of hyperspace, there were about two dozen other ships milling about, each making their new calculations to their destinations. Din let Cobb mostly take care of the navigating as he focused on keeping them from hitting any of the other ships. 

Cobb’s eyes scanned over the map, working the dials to hone in on the right coordinates. Even though his brain was still catching up with itself after the long sleep, something wasn’t sitting right with him as he took in the galaxy-scape. At first he thought it was just nerves, but the more he stared at the map the more his unease grew. 

“Din?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you spare a peek and tell me something?”

Din’s head whipped back. “What’s that?”

“Where’s the sun that’s giving off the solar flare near here?”

Cobb could practically see Din’s forehead crease as his neck craned out to get a better look. 

“Good question,” Din said slowly. He turned back to piloting. “I don’t see anything that would be close enough to affect the CTS here.”

Cobb’s stomach knotted. “I may not be a spacer, but I do know a trap when I smell it.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Din’s voice was tight, his hands flying over the console. “Powering up the shields.”

Cobb studied the other ships through the cockpit’s transparasteel viewer. None of them were approaching, and none bore any marks that he recognized. It just seemed like normal traffic, no different than a slow-down in one of Mos Eisley’s avenues on a crowded day. 

“No one’s making a move, though,” Cobb murmured. “Maybe the trap’s not for us.”

“You have those coordinates locked in?” Din asked. 

“Almost.” Cobb turned his attention back to the computer. A very tense minute later, he locked in the knobs. “Ready.”

Din was yanking the engager before Cobb had even finished speaking. As soon as they streaked back into hyperspace, he gave a shaky sigh.

“That was strange,” Din said. 

“Why would anyone be looking for you, though?”

Din gave a short, humorless laugh. “Plenty of reasons.”

When it was clear that Din wasn’t going to elaborate further, Cobb excused himself to use the fresher and take his meds. If Din didn’t want to share, then Cobb wasn’t going to press him. He understood—he had plenty of his own secrets to keep.

Once he’d cleaned himself up, he traded out with Din. Overall, he was feeling worlds better than he had in days. Centered. Ready. Amazing what so much sleep could do. He figured the next order of business was food, so he went to the cabinets to see what they had available.

By the time Din emerged, Cobb had two bowls of topato soup heated and a couple of portion breads rehydrated. 

“I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of making you some,” Cobb said. “Figured you’d be starving, too.”

“I…I appreciate it.” Din sounded genuinely surprised. 

“C’mon. I figure we can plan while we eat on the bunks.” Cobb grabbed both bowls and headed back towards the cots. He still remembered those first awkward meal times in Mos Pelgo with Din, where he would take his food somewhere private to eat without his helmet in peace. With the curtain between them, at least they could still share a meal without compromising Din’s beliefs.

Din was quiet as he climbed back into his make-shift shelter. Cobb settled on his own cot, listening to the rustle of fabric, the soft hiss of the helmet’s seal unlatching. A moment later, Din’s gloved hand emerged from behind the curtain, and Cobb placed Din’s bowl in it. 

“Thank you,” Din said as he pulled his meal in. 

“No problem,” Cobb said, giving a shrug he knew Din couldn’t see. “Just an extra portion of rations to heat up.”

“Not just that.” Din sounded nervous suddenly. “For respecting my creed. My limitations.”

“Limitations? Din, friend, there’s a lot worse things to believe in than keeping your face safe.” Cobb took a bite from his soup, thinking. “I mean, from what you’ve told me, Mandalorians got a lot figured out. You look after each other, keep your culture alive, take in orphans,” –Cobb took another bite, speaking around his mouthful— “if more folks in this galaxy followed half of your Resol…Resolnar—”

“ _Resol'nare_ ,” Din corrected gently.

“ _Resol'nare_ , then the galaxy would be in much better shape.”

Din was quiet for so long that Cobb was afraid he’d offended him somehow. Finally, Din spoke, and when he did, his voice was low, almost afraid.

“I broke my creed, Cobb.”

Cobb stopped with his spoon halfway up to his mouth, his heart twisting at the pain in Din’s words. 

“When?” Cobb asked, keeping his voice as even and free of judgement as possible. If Din wanted to speak, then Cobb was there to listen.

It took almost two hours for Din to explain what had happened to him since they’d parted ways—his encounter with Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorians on Trask, his meeting with the Jedi Ashoka, losing the kid to the Empire, the lengths he went to on Morak to find him. Cobb was rapt as Din told him about the siege on the light cruiser, the terrifying dark troopers, his duel with Moff Gideon, and finally, the Jedi Knight who swooped in, saved them all…and took the child away. 

It came out in fits and starts—sometimes the words pouring out of him fast and fierce, sometimes Cobb had to nudge him with round-about questions. He could tell that Din was still holding some information back, but Cobb didn’t blame him. It was a downright tragic tale, and to hear it all in Din’s own voice, unfiltered by the vocoder, just made it that much more powerful. By the time that Din’s story finally trickled to an end, Cobb’s eyes were rimmed with tears of sympathy.

“Din, partner, I…” He didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ seemed so pathetically inadequate. So much struggle, so much sacrifice. No wonder he’d been howling in that mine as much as Cobb had. 

_The mine._

Wait. He knew what to say. 

“ _Ni kar'taylir gar or'trikar ner._ ” Cobb spoke slowly, doing his best to remember every syllable. Din had repeated it so many times that the words were practically seared into his brain. He knew he must be butchering the pronunciation, but he hoped Din understood his meaning: _I know your grief as mine_.

There was a small snuffling sound on the other side of the curtain, and Cobb’s heart almost broke. It took all his willpower not to throw the curtain back, reach out to Din and wrap him in his arms. Instead, he used the only way to reach him that he could—his words.

“Din…Maker. That’s too much loss for one lifetime, never mind for one week. You have survived a nightmare, and believe me, I know all about living through nightmares.”

Cobb sighed, his head falling back against the wall as he thought. He was no stranger to coaching people through grief and shame—he’d had to do it plenty of times for folk he’d liberated from slavery who were still struggling with the aftermath. In their cases, though, at least they had gained something in the end: their freedom. Din, however, felt like he had lost everything. Cobb had to find a way to help Din turn that thinking around, or he’d never be able to move past that moment. 

“I get how much this all hurts, especially giving up your little one in the end. Hanging on to this guilt over taking off your helmet, though…Din, friend, you’ve gotta let that go. Your creed is a part of you, a _big_ part of you, but it’s not all you are. You’ve got a heart bigger and more beautiful than anything in this Maker-forsaken galaxy, and that’s not because you’ve kept your helmet on all your life. You still kept to the deepest tenants of your Reson…reason…”

“ _Resol'nare_.” 

“ _Resol'nare_! I swear, I will get it!” Cobb sighed. “What I’m trying to say is, there’s a time and a place to follow the rules, and time to break ‘em. It can mean the difference between life and death, slavery and freedom. How could you call yourself a Mandalorian if you’d left your boy with those Imperial bastards? You did the right thing, Din. You chose survival. You chose _him_.”

Din breathing came even more ragged from behind the curtain. He choked a small sob, and Cobb couldn’t take it anymore.

“Din, darlin’, I’m coming in. I’ve got my eyes closed, all right? I can’t let you sit alone in there a moment longer.”

Cobb stood, and closed his eyes. He reached through the gap in Din’s curtain, steadying himself by placing a hand on the cot. He’d fully intended to sit on the edge, maybe take Din’s hand if he’d let him, but when he felt Din’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him in, down onto the mattress, Cobb didn’t hesitate.

It felt surreal, dream-like, when Din’s naked forehead rested against his shoulder. Cobb reached up, and gingerly touched Din’s hair. His heart leapt as his fingers sank into the soft waves, the opposite of the hard, smooth beskar he was used to. Din shuddered against Cobb, his breath bursting out of him in a strangled sob. 

“ _Ni kar'taylir gar or'trikar ner,_ ” Cobb whispered, trying to soothe Din with his words and hands. 

Din clung to Cobb as he wept, his face pressed against Cobb’s chest. Cobb’s fingers drifted lower, stroking Din’s temple, and Din gave a jolt. Cobb immediately pulled his hand back.

“Sorry.” Both his face and his fingers were practically burning. 

_Maker, his skin is so soft…_

“ _Tug'yc, gedet'ye._ ” Din’s voice was so quiet that Cobb wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all. 

“What’s that, Din?” 

Din took Cobb’s wrist, and for a moment, Cobb thought Din was going to take his hand off of his head completely. Instead, he slowly moved it down, until Cobb’s hand rested along Din’s cheek. 

Cobb’s heart thundered in his chest, his nerves electric. Every part of his being was centered on the feel of Din’s face—the softness of his skin, the rasp of his stubble, the dampness of his tears. He brushed his thumb along the side of Din’s nose, then up and over, memorizing the slope of it.

“Strong nose,” he murmured. “Lovely.”

Din moaned softly, his whole body arching towards Cobb. It was all the encouragement Cobb needed to explore further. He traced up, discovering the hooded lids and shallow creases framing his eyes, the soft tufts of his eyebrows, the lengths of his lashes.

“You have kind eyes, Din. Even with everything you’ve gone through, it hasn’t hardened you.”

Cobb traced down, over Din’s nose again, until the pad of his thumb skated over the curves of Din’s lips. He traces the plumpness of the lower lip, then swept up to trace the sharper angles of the top lip.

“This mouth…” Cobb swallowed hard. _Was made to be kissed._

They both fell silent. The only sound in their little cocoon was the rasp of their mingled breathing, expectation so thick Cobb could practically taste it in the air.

“ _Gedet'ye_ ,” Din whispered. “ _ni murcyur_.”

Cobb didn’t know the words, but he understood their meaning loud and clear by the tone of Din’s voice, the way he tilted his head up to Cobb in invitation. 

_Please. Kiss me._

Cobb leaned in slowly, giving Din plenty of time to change his mind. Cobb couldn’t see his expression, but he could _feel_ him—the aching loneliness, the desperation for connection, the genuine love he had for Cobb. They were practically mirrors of Cobb’s own emotions.

When Cobb’s lips connected with Din’s, it was like a circuit closing. Golden warmth flowed from Cobb into Din, cycling through his being and returning to Cobb in cool silver brilliance. Cobb was awash in Din, in his strong spirit, the all-encompassing rhythm of his body. Cobb held it all, cradled it close, letting Din know he was safe, he was cherished. 

Din deepened the kiss with a moan, lips parting slightly, the tip of his tongue flitting over Cobb’s bottom lip. Cobb opened to him, welcoming him while also drawing on him. He’d never felt anything like this before. He’d kissed and been kissed—by choice and by coercion—but never had it been so rich, so enveloping, so _right_.

They drifted like that for what seemed like hours, trading kisses and feather-light touches in the dim warmth. 

“Your heart beats Mandalorian,” Cobb whispered, pressing a kiss to Din’s bare forehead. “It’s stronger and more precious than beskar. No one can take that from you, Din Djarin. Ever.”

Din hummed softly, and brushed his fingers along the back of Cobb’s neck, barely ghosting over the site of his implant scar. “You know strength, Cobb Vanth. Compassion. You embody it. If I could be half the person you are…”

“Hush, darlin’,” Cobb ran his fingers over Din’s cheek. “You have everything you need inside of you already. I can feel it.” He placed a hand on Din’s breastplate, right over his heart. 

_The heart of a king._

A thought drifted into Cobb’s mind—a vision, almost—of Mando standing tall in his shining armor, a red cape fluttering behind him like a podracer’s standard, a glowing black sword in his hand. It’s light reflected off his shining, dark eyes like lightning as he brandished it above his head—

“ _Cyar'ika_ ,” Din breathed. 

The vision broke, but Cobb didn’t mind. There was something in the way Din said that word that made Cobb’s insides turn to molten gold, pulling him back to the glorious present.

“What’s that mean?” Cobb asked softly. He could guess by the tone, but he wanted to understand the full meaning.

“It’s my way of calling you darling, too.”

Cobb face warmed, and he gave a low chuckle. “Caught that, did you?”

“Yes. Both times.” 

“Shar-ee-kah,” Cobb tried the word out, loving how the syllables felt in his mouth. “Cyar’ika.”

“ _Cyar’ika_.” Din ran his fingers over Cobb’s beard, stroking along his chin. “I’ve…I’ve waited my whole life to call someone that.”

Cobb held Din even tighter. This was the opposite side of the coin from the regal vision he’d just had of him—vulnerable, tender, receptive. In that moment, Cobb understood: there couldn’t be one without the other. Din needed both to be whole…

The way that Cobb did.

“There’s things I need to tell you, still,” Din said, “important things.”

“It’s OK. You don’t need to tell me everything all at once,” Cobb soothed, rubbing Din’s cheek. “We have time.”

Cobb had to believe that. Otherwise, it would break his heart to think that this beautiful moment could turn into fuel for Din’s future pain. Just another devastating loss.

“We have all the time in the galaxy, darlin’.” 

As he dozed off again, Cobb realized something. In his vision, he’d seen the light of the saber glinting in Din’s eyes…

And he still hadn’t seen his face.

  
*******************  
  


Din felt Cobb’s body relax into sleep, but he was still too electrified to join him. He didn’t want to sleep ever again, not if it meant losing a single second of feeling Cobb’s arms around him, his warm breath against his bare cheek.

His eyes were wide open, staring at the lines of Cobb’s throat. He was so close that he could watch his pulse beat, study the salt-and-pepper patterns of his beard. Din had a hard time believing that Cobb had actually kept his eyes closed throughout all that, but deep down, Din didn’t care. The gentleness with which Cobb had touched his face was more intimate than seeing him with his eyes. If that didn’t count as letting him know his face, then he didn’t know what did. 

How could that—how could _this_ —ever be wrong? He felt like a muscle that was finally unclenching after a lifetime under tension, lax and trembling in relief. What was Din afraid of? Losing his clan? That had already happened. Losing his child? That too. Losing himself? 

He’d done that. Time and time again.

When his parents had been killed in front of him. 

When he’d sworn the creed. 

When he’d broken the bounty hunter’s code to save Grogu. 

When he’d removed his helmet. Once, to save his own life; twice, to save Grogu’s; thrice, to say good-bye.

When Boba had found him out in the desert, trying to rid himself of the darksaber. 

When he swore that he would save Cobb, or die alongside him.

Each and every time, it had changed him. Everything he’d fought for and gained and lost and survived had changed him. 

_"Your creed is a part of you, a big part of you, but it’s not all you are."_

He was not static. No one—nothing—was. It was like he’d been explaining to Cobb yesterday about the galaxy map: space was always in motion. Planets followed orbits, stars were born and died. You couldn’t just follow the same path you had before to the same destination, you needed to calculate it all over again.

Maybe…maybe it was the same with him.

He knew how to take life, but also how to nurture it. Cobb here in his arms was testament to that.

He was both _buir_ and _dar’buir_. Grogu was where he needed to be, and Din still loved him all the same. If something ever happened, Din would be right there for Grogu. Always.

He took a deep breath. Did that dichotomy exist for his Mandalorian beliefs as well?

In the eyes of his Tribe, he was _dar’manda_. In the eyes of Bo-Katan and her Night Owls, he was _Mand’alor_. In the eyes of Boba Fett, he was his _vod'ika_ , his younger brother—if only by a few years—and _burc'ya_ , his equal.

Boba. His _ori'vod_. Din’s heart squeezed, remembering those first, dark nights in the hovel Boba had called his home on Tatooine. Din’s nightmares had been so vivid he’d wake up screaming, clawing desperately for what had been stolen from him. He’d never reach what he wanted—his child, his parents, his Tribe, his ship—but something he needed would appear in his grasp: Boba’s hands, pulling him into his armored chest, comforting him with his rough words. 

Sometimes, the dreams weren’t about loss or violence, they were about the darksaber and everything that came with it. He would be fighting swaths of dark troopers with the darksaber--much like Grogu’s Jedi had--but when he looked down they were the bodies of Mandalorians, not droids. Or he’d be standing naked-headed before armies of helmeted Mandalorians, who would open fire on him as soon as he brandished the saber. 

When he spoke to Boba about his fears, Boba mostly listened. Once, though, when Din had been describing a particularly unsettling dream, Boba had spoken.

“There’s something my father told me, that his _buir_ told him,” Boba had said, “‘ _gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la_.’”

Din understood: bloodline is not important, but you as a father are the most valuable thing.

“It was something Jango lived by,” Boba continued. “He himself was foundling, a farmer’s son who was saved by Jasteer Mereel. He didn’t speak much of Mereel. I suspect he was waiting until I was older to tell me more. All I remember was that he was a good father, an honorable man, and had once been the _Mand’alor_.”

That had gotten Din’s attention. 

“Mereel himself was not from Mandalore. He—and Jango—were both born on Concord Dawn. Yet, both men served as _Mand’alor_.”

“Wait, your father was _Mand’alor_ , too?”

“For a time. He was also a slave. A bounty hunter. The template for an entire army.”

“Boba,” Din had held up the darksaber he’d been studying, offering it Boba with a fledgling hope. “Then this should be yours. You’re the rightful _Mand’alor!”_

Boba had laughed, roughly, but not unkindly.

“Din, _vod'ika_ , there is no power in the universe that would make me take that thing willingly.”

Din’s heart had sunk, his hope guttering out almost as soon as it had been ignited.

“I’m not telling you this because I want the saber. I don’t. I’m telling you this because I’m trying to show you that you don’t need to be a blue-blooded Mandalorian to be a leader. Both Mereel and my father bled and killed and built and led Mandalorians. Don’t let that princess Bo-Katan fill your head with nonsense about ‘rightful bloodlines.’ You have every right to that blade. You won it through blood, sweat, and sacrifice. It chose you, Din. You will care for your people the way you cared for your _ad'ika_. You are _buir_ to your people. You are _Mand’alor_. If you choose to be.”

Cobb shifted against Din with a sleepy hum, bringing Din’s thoughts back to the present. He sighed, but there was no weight behind it. Only questions.

Did he choose to be _Mand’alor_? Was it even a choice? When he’d first laid eyes on Grogu, he’d technically had a choice, to kill or claim, but it hadn’t felt like a choice then. There was only one truth—save the Child. 

_This is your new truth, Din Djarin. You are Mand’alor_. 

If he was Mand’alor…he set the law. 

The best place to start, then, was with himself.

“ _Aliit Mand’alor_ ,” he whispered. He felt almost lightheaded saying it out loud. It still felt like blasphemy, something he had no right to say. It would take time, practice. He had to. How could he lead if he couldn’t even admit he was a leader?

For now, though, this was a start: just admitting his new truth to himself, with no helmet to trap his words. His secret was safe in the circle of Cobb’s sleeping arms. 

He knew that when Cobb awoke, he’d ask him to keep his eyes closed until Din could put his helmet back on. He’d keep his face—and his new truth—to himself a while longer. Soon, though, soon he’d be ready to share both with his _cyar’ika_.

“ _Aliit Mand’alor_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the Mandoa: I am doing my best, but I know I'm butchering some of it. If you know better and see something, please let me know!
> 
> Thank you for your patience in waiting an extra week for this chapter. I think it's become apparent that my life is too chaotic to promise anything concrete, except that I will do my best to communicate if it's going to be longer than 2 weeks between chapters.


End file.
